


Envelopes of Suspect Origin

by vice_vereesa



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Femslash, Fix-It of Sorts, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Humor, I took so much liberty with the timeline this is definitely an AU, Lesbian Character, Letters, Pre-Third War (Warcraft), Sexual Tension, Windrunner Sisters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 97,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vice_vereesa/pseuds/vice_vereesa
Summary: Jaina is determined to learn Thalassian. Vereesa is determined to avoid becoming her personal tutor. Luckily, she happens to have a sister with a lot of pent up emotions and an inability to verbalise them. It is a pen pal match made if not in Hell, then definitely at some tavern by one of the side roads to Hell.Pre-Third War, Jaina is on a (permanent) break with Arthas and Sylvanas has Issues, so they exchange letters and get stupid with each other.This is a romcom and only partly a letterfic.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner, Vereesa Windrunner/Alexstrasza
Comments: 1847
Kudos: 1435





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly canon up until the end of the Second War, then I decided to entertain myself so now the canon timeline lies beaten up in some back alley.  
> Jaina is 22 at this point and we are a few months away from the Plague. Unlike in canon, she dated Arthas between ages 19 and 21. They are quite broken up.  
> I'm certain everyone is OOC in this story except Vereesa who canonically has maybe 1.2 braincells.  
> Please enjoy :)
> 
> Edit: this is a non-for-profit story I wrote to entertain myself. You're not allowed to duplicate or repost it anywhere. That includes fragments too.  
> Edit 2: characters and setting is owned by Blizzard, plot and humour owned by me. I intended no copyright infringement. Frankly Blizzard, instead of suing me consider hiring me. Better deal for both of us.

“Vereesa!”

Jaina was a whirlwind as she slammed her tome of _Children of the Sun_ onto the table Vereesa shared with her fellow rangers. The 864-page book (Vereesa knew this by heart) impacted with a deafening thud and Vereesa instinctually knocked over an empty mug to react _somehow_ instead of shooting herself out of her seat. Then, for a fraction of a moment, the entire Dalaran Beer Garden stopped and took a collective breath to brace themselves - Jaina Proudmoore had arrived and she was in a mood.

Every elf ear in the vicinity flattened. It was supposed to be a lazy summer evening with lemonade (for Vereesa), dwarven beer (for everyone else), pretzels, cicada cacophony, and gossip freshly baked in Silvermoon. Maybe a few rounds of Dalaran Snaps, a card game Vereesa was painfully bad at but all her squad mates loved, almost as much as she loved to toe the fine line between being indulgent and a complete pushover. A perfect way to wind down after the seemingly eternal hours of drills their general had put them through. 

That idea was driven into the ground faster than Vereesa would have been in a drinking competition, and all she needed for a spike in her adrenaline was an apprentice mage on a mission.

“Yes, hello everyone, lovely evening we have,” Jaina said with the apparent intention to squeeze out every word in a single second. “Vereesa, I need you.”

The rangers snickered at that and their ears perked up in amusement. Vereesa saw Adurin mouthing ‘I need you’ and Braedin mock-whispering ‘I’m yours’ back to him. She squinted at them. There were going to be words to have with them and she was not looking forward to it.

“Let’s get you something to drink. You look like death twice reheated,” she said and true enough, Jaina was a vision in her purple Kirin Tor robes, a nightmarish one at that, dishevelled as though she chose to sprint from the Grand Library all the way to the Beer Garden. Vereesa could almost see it: Jaina hurtling towards her like a loose comet, knocking people over left and right with her 125th edition of _Children of the Sun_ , as healers rushed to the scene to tend to the mutilated masses.

Vereesa shuddered and crawled out from her place on the bench with as much dignity as the situation (and Braedin and Adurin bracketing her) granted her. “No one is allowed to put anything on my tab or I’ll come to your room tonight to cry at you. That’s a promise and a threat.”

Jaina gathered her book in her arms and followed Vereesa to the bar. The Beer Garden hosted a sizeable crowd that night so they both needed some thoughtful shouldering and elbowing. The benches were packed with Dalaran citizens - Kirin Tor apprentices, vendors and guards mingling together under the open sky. It was all completely pleasant pre-Jaina. Now, the folks by the bar politely separated to give them their space, trying to regain some of that pleasantness. 

One of the Brewmaidens, a young dwarven woman, looked at Vereesa then at Jaina and finally back to Vereesa. She opened two bottles of Kul Tiran ale and put them down in front of them without a word but with a look of deep pity.

“Thank you,” Jaina said and took a sip as she sat down on one of the high stools. “And thank _you_ for carving out some time for me. As you see I’m quite vexed. Perhaps vexed is a strong word. I am in minor distress.”

Jaina put her book down on the bar between them as if that single act would explain anything at all. It did not. 

“You are in distress over _Children of the Sun_? You do know that is only a fairy tale.” Vereesa sampled her drink too and made a face as she registered the rich, smoky flavour with a hint of a soggy bread aftertaste. She discreetly handed her bottle to the next dwarf passing her by. “My mother used to read it to me before I went to sleep.”

“That’s just _it,_ ” Jaina downed her beer in one go. Vereesa thought her tolerance for alcohol was befitting of her sailor roots. “It is the simplest example of written Thalassian I could find in our library and I don’t understand it. This is some bedtime story about the Sundering - Tides know why you’d want to sleep to that - and I can’t read it.”

Vereesa shot a pleading look to the Brewmaiden who handed her a mug of mead with an air of increasing pity.

“I am usually not terrible at picking up languages,“ Jaina continued, “but yours is almost like you stuffed Darnassian into the Sunwell until it drowned in logical fallacies and grandiosity.”

“Hey!” Vereesa cradled her mug as if it was the innocent object of Jaina’s ire. “We like our beautiful language, thank you very much.”

“I would like it too if you didn’t have fifteen words for dinner or nine different types of past tense, only two of them obsolete. _Two_ , Vereesa,” Jaina said and slapped _Children of the Sun_ for emphasis. “And don’t even get me started on honorifics. I absolutely don’t want to know how to address someone who would have been a prince but he abdicated and then ended up exiled. But I must.”

Vereesa sighed and put her elbows on the bar. Jaina was a great friend, quite possibly her best friend but nowadays she was a high maintenance one too, and this wasn’t Jaina’s first meltdown over something small that she had to mediate. Technically she didn’t _have to_ but she was at least semi-successful at cooling her down and it was a sacrifice she would gladly make for the good of all the people in Dalaran.

“Jaina, we have maybe about ten books in Thalassian in the entire Grand Library. I think you will be fine without honourifics,” she said.

“Here maybe but not in Silvermoon,” Jaina said and turned her body towards her. “That’s part of why I wanted to talk to you. Master Antonidas wants me to accompany Kael’thas on some expedition he is putting together. I am leaving for Quel’Thalas in a month.”

“No way! I wanted to be your first tourist guide,” Vereesa complained. “For the record I’m very happy for you but I’m also very selfish.”

Jaina looked amused as she leaned closer to Vereesa, resting her arms on the bar, mirroring her.

“I would rather have you there too,” Jaina said. “ What if I try to buy bread and I accidentally scorn someone’s ancestors? What will I do if you’re not there to save me? Start an international conflict?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Vereesa said and stifled a laugh. “Almost everyone speaks Common these days.”

“No, almost everyone _understands_ Common,” Jaina pointed out, rolling her eyes. “Almost no one is willing to speak it. Kael’thas says it is crude and lacks style.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration,” Vereesa scoffed. “Most of us are not like His Majesty. If Kael’thas is such a purist, he should find the time to give you private lessons.”

“Oh, he would jump at the opportunity,” Jaina laughed without mirth and toyed with the neck of her bottle. Vereesa’s eyebrows shot up at that. “And other opportunities too, I’m sure. He isn’t exactly subtle about his desire to court me. Tides know what exactly he sees in me.”

“Well, you’re brilliant, for one,” Vereesa said and started counting down on her fingers, “and a real looker. That’s two. I’ll have to deduct a point because you’re a little intense, love”-Jaina snorted at that-” but who knows, maybe he is drawn to strong personalities.”

“If he is the one drawn to me I ought to drown myself in a barrel of ale.”

“You know,” Vereesa started and stopped to contemplate her mead again. One of those days she would finally drink it too after all that gazing. “He isn’t that terrible. Pompous and vain, surely, but he can’t be worse than that Menethil boy for whom you’re still carrying that torch.”

“I don’t carry any torches for Arthas,” Jaina said and Vereesa felt the defensiveness rolling off her in waves, so she braced herself against her mug. “He wanted a short break and now he got himself a permanent one.”

Vereesa wanted to pry but she could hear her sister’s voice in her head clear as a mountain spring telling her she was a busybody, and that she would always be a busybody, and how no one liked a busybody.

“Actually, on that note. On torches and such,” Jaina added, still defensive but with a backdrop of timidity. Vereesa decided this was the perfect time to take a sip. “I was hoping you would tutor me. Instead of Kael’thas. I would like it if we could spend some time together.”

Vereesa had to force her mouthful of drink down her throat, as her first instinct was to do a spit take. The mead clawed its way down to her belly, leaving her teary eyed and red faced. She thought this was her moment of death and all her missteps were going to be replayed in her mind in stark detail: all the times she jokingly flirted, all the times she grabbed Jaina’s hands, and above all, all the times her friends gave her meaningful looks over Jaina’s shoulders that she ignored in favour of staying blissfully ignorant. Her death did not come but the intense need to crawl inside one of those barrels of ale and actually drown did.

“You know, when we go through a big change in our life,” Vereesa said, trying to aim for a tone one would use to calm an untamed dragonhawk if that dragonhawk was particularly soothed by the general atmosphere of trembling discomfort, “or in our _relationships_ ”-she elected to ignore Jaina’s eyerolls-“we often feel a need to immerse ourselves in new activities to take our minds off of our inner turmoil.”

“I am aware of the existence of hobbies, Vereesa,” Jaina said and if she noticed Vereesa’s very own inner turmoil, she chose not to comment on it. “But thank you, please continue.”

Vereesa glanced at the Brewmaiden who was scrubbing away at some freshly cleaned glasses with a towel. She slowly shook her head at Vereesa.

“And often, we try to replace what we have lost,” Vereesa ventured, “with things. And people.”

“Things and people,” Jaina repeated evenly. “Who is who in the analogy? Kael’thas is Arthas? Or is the Thalassian language Arthas?”

Vereesa surveyed the Beer Garden for possible escape routes but Sylvanas’ voice was yet again here to remind her: ‘Do yourself a favour and grow up, Little Moon’. She fanned her fingers out on the bar and took a breath.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and I hope I don’t offend you but,” Vereesa hesitated, tried to calculate the risk, decided she wasn’t an academic for a reason, and said, “do you happen to like me, Jaina? Romantically?”

Jaina drummed her fingers on her empty bottle. She did not look shocked. Pensive, maybe.

“I thought I was quite obvious,” she said finally. “You know, it is a fledgling crush. Absolutely squashable at a moment’s notice. If you wish for me to squash it, that is.”

Jaina was beautiful. Perhaps not by elven standards that were unattainable by design, but she had a lot of presence. Vereesa was aware of this fact, now especially so, as she watched Jaina’s cheeks bloom with the pink of embarrassment, her freckles blending into the colour.

“I wasn’t sure you were an equal opportunity flirt,” Vereesa said eventually, unable to bury the bubbling weariness of her voice.

Jaina laughed, uproariously, as if Vereesa had just invented humour, and said, “By how well I’m currently doing, I’d say I might be a zero opportunity flirt.”

“Jaina, you know I think you’re terrific.”

“I did not know that,” Jaina said, “but thank you for packaging your rejection so nicely.”

“You would think that the prospect of everlasting life would give people some perspective about their preferences.”

“You like men,” Jaina condensed it down helpfully. “I understand.”

“I think so,” Vereesa said. “I will make sure to notify you if anything changes but in the meantime it might be good for you to find other… outlets.”

Jaina tilted her head up a couple degrees, and if Vereesa wasn’t so in tune with her body language, she wouldn’t have noticed it. That was a tilt of reluctant acceptance and perhaps a bundle of unspoken retorts. Jaina twisted her upper body to face the significantly drunker-than-before crowd, while Vereesa kept on regarding her. Jaina’s face betrayed little, and regret settled deep in the pit of Vereesa’s stomach as she wondered why exactly she felt sombre about her very own decisions. She took her eyes off Jaina and followed her line of vision to Adurin apparently giving a dissertation on his various upper arm muscle groups to a group of Kirin Tor apprentices. 

“Just for the sake of beating a dead horse,” Jaina said as she flagged down a Brewmaiden for some pretzels. “Would you have tutored me if I said I didn’t like you?”

“No.” Vereesa laughed, relieved that Jaina made an effort to breeze past the awkwardness. “I too am going away and much sooner than you. Yours truly finally got assigned her very first real mission.”

It was true, of course. She had been approached by the Kirin Tor the previous week about accompanying Rhonin Redhair on some discreet diplomatic mission to Khaz Modan. Vereesa assumed only two out of those details were true: Rhonin and Khaz Modan. If not for any other reason then for Rhonin’s kind insistence that she should see Sylvanas before they leave. They usually only communicated through letters and notes these days, with Vereesa being stationed in Dalaran and Sylvanas being often away on ranger duty, but Rhonin had steered her off from that course. It was suspect, at least.

“Congratulations,” Jaina said and offered her a smile full of affection. Vereesa’s heart clenched a little at that. “You deserve that. I assume the details are strictly need-to-know?”

The Brewmaiden came back with a plate full of soft Dalaran-style sourdough pretzels. Vereesa liked the sesame seed ones more but Jaina always went for sea salt. 

“Quite so,” Vereesa said and took one of Jaina’s pretzels anyway. “I don’t even know much about it myself. They did tell me, however, to catch up with whomever I think I ought to before I leave.”

Vereesa noted the minute darkening of Jaina’s expression and added, “I should say I’m glad you caught me tonight. Even if things didn’t work out in your favour.”

“Well, don’t expect me to be all that heartbroken about you, Vereesa Windrunner,” Jaina said between two bites. “I have princes lining up in single file, after all.”

“Good to know I’m that forgettable,” Vereesa huffed in mock annoyance. “We still have to do something about your language deficiency unless it was only a ruse to have me in a room with you.”

“You,” Jaina started and put her pretzel back down, “are not allowed to use flirtatious language with me. It is only my prerogative from now on.”

Vereesa put her hands up in defence then grinned at Jaina. She returned the gesture and in that moment Vereesa knew they would be all right. The old and familiar sense of comfort washed over her again, as she was so used to with Jaina, except now it had the tiniest tint of shame to it, for she had a person in her life who made her feel the best about herself and she still couldn’t accept her love. She supposed that was the Windrunner family’s shared doom, forever finding reasons to shy away from personal happiness.

“I have a sister,” Vereesa blurted out without thinking.

“I… know that?” Jaina looked at her with growing concern.

“No, I mean. I have a sister who speaks Thalassian.”

“It would be strange if she didn’t.”

“No, I mean she could tutor you in Thalassian,” Vereesa finished lamely.

“Your sister in Silvermoon? Could tutor me in Thalassian... how?”

Vereesa rolled over everything she knew about Sylvanas and everything she knew about Jaina in her mind until it formed an amorphous blob of a thought, almost resembling an idea.

“Modera agreed to make a portal to Windrunner Spire tomorrow afternoon. I’m hoping to catch Sylvanas there as she is taking a few days off, ” Vereesa said. She licked her index finger and proceeded to wipe the sea salt off Jaina’s plate. Jaina looked about ready to slap her. “You should write her a letter, I can pass it to her tomorrow. She even understands ancient Thalassian, you know.”

Vereesa, seeing Jaina visibly perk up at that added, “I can already see you brimming with excitement, don’t even deny it.”

“I’m not brimming,” Jaina mumbled. “But that’s beside the point. Why would your very busy, very accomplished sister become _pen pals_ with some apprentice mage from Kul Tiras?”

“ _Because_ you are an apprentice mage from Kul Tiras,” Vereesa said. “You don’t know her, you don’t know anyone in Silvermoon, actually. Besides Kael’thas, I suppose. Nor do you know much about high elven customs or gossip for that matter.”

“I’m charmingly ignorant?”

“Unprejudiced. I think my sister could use someone like that in her life,” Vereesa said. “I know you two will hit it off.”

“How come?”

“Well, you both are sharp and testy. Either you kill each other or you hit it off.”

Jaina grabbed her hand before she could pick more salt off her plate, and said, “And you think this a _good_ idea?”

“The best.”

~~~

Her little sister was in her living room. Technically, it was _their_ living room and Alleria’s too, should she ever come back to her. To them. This was absolutely not the moment to sift through her abandonment issues, leftover guilt and all that unhealthy hero worship she had tied together with a neat, Alleria-shaped bow. Vereesa was sitting on the couch that used to fit the four of them. Now she was dwarfed by the dozen eclectic throw pillows Sylvanas had bought from a Silvermoon seamstress in a moment of gripping loneliness, instead of being squashed by Lirath’s lanky frame and Alleria’s strong shoulders. Sylvanas swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced some practiced neutrality onto her face.

“Vereesa,” Sylvanas drawled. “Are you seriously telling me that you have some girl with an inconvenient crush and you decided to fob her off with... me?”

Vereesa at least had the decency to blush.

“When you say that it almost sounds like you’re an inferior substitute while we both know you’re the better Windrunner.”

“Can you navigate a conversation without trying to suck up to me, Vereesa?” Sylvanas flexed and unflexed her fingers, then decided to fold her arms over her chest to keep from fidgeting.

“I liked it better when you used to call me ‘Little Moon’. Back when you still loved your baby sister,” Vereesa said and she went on to toy with the fringes on one of the pillows.

“You’re so annoying.” Sylvanas threw herself on a hassock. “Did I not pay you enough attention when you were a kid ? Is that why you’re like this?”

Vereesa grinned at her and Sylvanas could tell that the tips of her ears were getting pinker by the minute as her exasperation flared. 

“No, I’m like this because you paid so much attention to me that I had enough time to figure you out,” Vereesa sad, smug now. “You’re like soft butter.”

Sylvanas threw her a carefully crafted dirty look. Vereesa remained unperturbed by it.

“I just hope you didn’t promise that girl anything. I don’t want to deal with your second-hand embarrassment.”

“I only promised that you would read her first letter, nothing more,” Vereesa said and put her palms up as a sign of goodwill, if she was even capable of that, “and I already know you will do that.”

“I am forced to honour your word”-Sylvanas gave Vereesa the dreariest sigh she could achieve-“so you aren’t giving me much of a choice.”

“Believe me, you will love Jaina. She is brilliant.”

“How brilliant can she be if she voluntarily befriended you and even fell for your,” Sylvanas said and gestured at Vereesa’s entire person, “questionable charms?”

“Hey!” Vereesa threw a pillow at Sylvanas who grabbed it easily and hurled it right back at her, hitting her in the face. “I am very charming.”

“Should I congratulate you for leading on the- how many was it now? The _fourth_ woman in two years despite having the most conventional tastes in the world?” Sylvanas shook her head. “You’re so charming.”

“I didn’t lead her on, I swear! The moment it all dawned on me, I cleared the air,” Vereesa whined. “I am learning from my mistakes. It isn’t my fault that I have this face. This is a curse in our blood. Even Alleria struggled with this.”

Sylvanas buried her face in her hands and then stood up.

“That is my cue. I really don’t want to know how many women had drooled over Alleria. I’m going to sleep.” She bent down to grab a few scrolls from the coffee table, Jaina’s envelope among them. “You’ll find your room in perfect condition. If I leave before you… well, have fun on your little getaway with Rhonin.”

Vereesa stood too and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“Vereesa.” Sylvanas tried to not choke on her words and only failed a little. “You are not allowed to die on your mission. As Head of House Windrunner-“

“Interim Head, until Alleria comes back-“

“ _Interim_ Head of House Windrunner, I forbid it. Your service to this family hasn’t ended.”

Vereesa gave her a perfect ranger salute and said, “Understood, Lady Moon.”

Sylvanas waved her off and went to brave the spiral staircase that lead to her bedroom. She turned back at the second step and sighed, “I love you too, Little Moon.”

Vereesa beamed at her and Sylvanas had to admit that she really was like soft butter, after all.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:
> 
> Actual letters happen, Jaina almost starts the 2.5th War, Sylvanas keeps outing herself as a closet sap, Vereesa thinks she is a genius, and Rhonin has the tiniest cameo in the world to remind us that he is a nerd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your likes and kudos!  
> This chapter contains innuendos and even more Warcraft lore made up by me.  
> I included a quote from the Kul Tiran bestseller "Stormy Seas".

_Dear Lady Proudmoore,_

_I am pleased to have made your acquaintance. Your introductory letter was much more intriguing than I had expected as my expectations were largely influenced by my sister’s account on your deep and eternal longing for her body and soul._

_That made me think of you as nothing but a sad fool with even sadder taste in women. Now, I have to rescind at least part of my prejudice: you might merely be a woman of inferior taste but one with some brains to her. How much that “some” is, I’m yet to decide._

_However, it would be remiss of me not to remind you that intellect does not equal wits and I can think of few more witless things to do than to ask the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas what “Ban’dinoriel” means or what it does._

_All you need to know about the gravity of the situation is that I would declare you a national threat if it weren’t for my sister. She swears on the Sunwell that you are not an orcish double agent. I suppose I’ll have to take her word on that._

_I do commend you for enchanting your envelope, however. I had to burn your letter anyway but I did commit it to my memory. Should you send me more letters, do find a way to protect their content even after reading because I’m no mage and I’m at wits end. I can’t have these words lying around and I don’t care enough to carry you around in my pockets._

_Since I cannot answer your inquiries without committing high treason, I can only hope you shall be satisfied knowing that we also have several words for “bread” and “beer” and even a few for “unrequited love”. All of those things might interest you as a human._

_Please find attached a bilingual copy of_ Dath’Remar and Tyrande _, one of my favourite (albeit entirely fictional) romances._

_I hope it gives you some strength in these trying times._

  
_Looking forward to hearing how you liked it,_

  
  


_Best regards,_

_Sylvanas Windrunner_

  
  


Jaina turned the book over in her hands. It was covered in soft, black leather and golden embossed lettering. She held it to her face to smell the fresh ink and glue on it; it was newly printed and bound. It looked almost longer than _Children of the Sun_ , since every left page was written in Common and every right one in Thalassian. Designed for learners. 

Apparently, Sylvanas went out of her way to buy her a book from a store. It was a thoughtful gesture even if Sylvanas meant to taunt her with it, and Jaina vowed to read a good chunk of it before composing her reply.

She wanted to ask Vereesa about Sylvanas, get her advice on how to handle her but her friend left for her mission straight from Silvermoon and had not contacted her since. That was only two days ago and she was concerned despite Vereesa giving her little reason to feel that way. She was, after all, much older than Jaina and perhaps a lot more experienced too in many facets of life, but she had no history of leading teams on her own. That required more than military acumen - there was also a case to be made for empathy, and while Vereesa was perfectly kind and well-meaning, she had somehow managed to miss Jaina’s flirting for an entire month. That was reason enough to be concerned.

So, it was only Sylvanas and her now. Normally, after a letter like that she would have written her a few lines as a token of her gratitude, in ten words or less, and humbly refrained from further contact, but Sylvanas intrigued her. She would rather weather her barbs than spend even so much as an hour alone with Kael’Thas debating how to pick the most fashionable way to say “bread” in Thalassian. She didn’t even want to think about “unrequited love”.

She put the book aside and checked the time on her sturdy wall clock. There was a couple hours until the Grand Library closed and that was going to be enough for her to toe her way into arcane encryption. 

~~~

_Dear Lady Windrunner,_

  
  


_Thank you for your swift reply and thank you for the book as well. I shall cherish it almost as much as I shall cherish your insults. It is rare to find that open fervour in someone I have never met. I usually only incite that reaction in person. I find myself proud._

_As I’m reading your delightful letter, I think there are some errors for me to fix._

_Firstly, you should know that Vereesa’s so-called “account” is deeply personal and reflects only her perspective. That is to say, she greatly exaggerates her importance in my romantic life. Personally, I would prefer to be judged by my other attempts at love. Those were also failures._

_Secondly, you should also know that my question about the Word We Shall Never Mention Again was as innocent as a newborn lamb. I saw it in a children’s book and the context did not offer me enough of an explanation. I thought it was a profession or perhaps a title - a member of the royal guard? I am not entirely shocked that I almost caused a diplomatic incident. This is exactly the kind of thing I hoped to avoid by finding a reliable tutor. Aren’t I lucky to have you?_

_It was a flimsy attempt at an inquiry about your job as I was hoping to learn more about what you do and what kind of person you are, because Vereesa is nothing if not completely biased. According to her, you are the single most upstanding member of elven society._

_I am most content to know that upstanding as you are, you are not above landing lowly digs at my character. It is refreshing._

_I am about three quarters into your book (the Common version, of course) and I’m fascinated by the story - the richness of the plot, the layers to the characters. However, I can’t comprehend how you can consider this a romance. Tyrande clearly does not care for Dath’Remar as he cares for her and knowing what’s to come, it can only end in tragedy._

_How is this supposed to give me strength? Or were you just cruel? If not, I beg the answer: do you see yourself as a tragic figure, Lady Windrunner? Or do you just enjoy suffering-by-proxy?_

  
  


_Al diel shala,_

_Jaina Proudmoore_

  
  


Sylvanas read and reread that letter, lying sprawled on the hammock strung above her balcony at Windrunner Spire, and she could not tell when her hand had started trembling. It was a curious feeling, not knowing whether to laugh or tear up that aggravating piece of paper. She settled on a half-smile.

She could not pinpoint what she expected from Jaina Proudmoore but this was certainly not it. Whoever this Jaina was (besides the Lord Admiral’s daughter and a mage, that much she had figured out in the meantime), it seemed that she was ready to match Sylvanas at her speed.

Sylvanas thought her letter would be the end of this dalliance - Vereesa would be satisfied that she made an attempt and this Jaina would be well on her way to find someone else to bother. Jaina clearly thought otherwise.

Sylvanas wasn’t used to being pursued like this. It wasn’t romantic interest and it wasn’t animosity either, at least not how her sworn enemies would go about it. This was someone aggressively wanting to know her out of spite, trying to find and poke nerve endings along the way.

She clenched her fist unthinkingly, crumpling up the paper before she could stop herself. She tried to smooth it out on her thighs but gave up soon, dropping the letter onto the cold stone of her balcony. She felt too light and she needed to be anchored. 

~~~~

_Dear Lady Proudmoore,_

  
  


_I apologise to you. I should have known that your insistence to find out more about the Word We Shall Never Mention Again was really about my irresistibly enchanting professional life._

_I should have assumed that a complete stranger would want nothing more than to know how it feels to polish my ceremonial armour for the birthday party of every major noble (and believe me, we have a swarm of them), or to complain about the haircuts of my troops. If you wish to know, I’m not partial to either. I would hire a personal complainer but I believe the spirit of my mother would torment me forever if I abandoned my very important duties. I hope that satisfies your professional curiosity because those frivolities are the only thing I shall share about my job._

_I shall indulge you, however, about my similarly enchanting personal life, merely because I find your questions cutting and forward, and I can’t help admiring your boldness._

_Firstly, I did not wish to be cruel to you with my book selection. Any other real or assumed cruelty on my part I shall not comment on, I should let you decide for yourself._

_I love_ Dath’Remar and Tyrande _exactly because it is tragic. It tells the story not of star-crossed lovers (a very popular topic in quel’dorei literature) but of the purest form of unrequited love. Dath’Remar would do anything for Tyrande but he can’t make her fall in love with him. He knows this and he lets her go to find happiness and love elsewhere. It is unselfish and noble, his actions reflecting the strength of his character._

_I truly did think it would lift your spirits. Perhaps I am a tragic figure, as you said, drawn to stories about suffering. You should send me something you enjoy and I shall tell you about my findings._

_Please find attached some satirical drawings. If you are to visit this city, you should familiarise yourself with our current political atmosphere._

_P.S.: Do not worry yourself about the pamphlets. I have sent them to the Prince as well. He framed them._

_Anu belore dela'na._

  
  


_Best regards,_

_Sylvanas Windrunner_

  
  


Jaina looked at the pamphlets in horror: one of them portrayed Prince Kael’Thas Sunstrider as a peacock showing off his feathers to a crowd of humans in purple robes, while another one depicted King Anasterian fanning flames over Eversong Woods. She knew enough about elven society to know it was scandalous.

She casted a quick illusion charm over them, making them look like kids’ drawings (she would say that Tandred drew them), lest she should be found with anything on her person that could jeopardise her expedition with Kael’Thas. 

She was more than baffled by Sylvanas. On one hand, she sounded idealistic and almost vulnerable about her romantic ideals, on the other hand, she did send her crude drawings that counted essentially as contraband, when she had known it fully well that Jaina was to visit Quel’Thalas as the Prince’s esteemed guest. Was this her idea of humour or did she wish her ill?

Jaina locked her door, and went to examine the letter and the pamphlets by her writing desk. She traced the invisible lines of arcane energy flowing through the paper and smiled in spite of herself. Whoever placed the encryption was quite a bit more talented than Jaina was. Intentionally or not, Sylvanas had just given her the best tool for learning.

_~~~_

_Dear Lady Windrunner,_

  
  


_I humbly accept your apology. Even if it might not have been as sincere as the rest of your letter, which was perhaps more genuine than you wanted it to be. Either that, or you’re a most entertaining liar. I would not complain either way._

_I first pegged you as a private person but you sure divulge a lot about yourself to a complete stranger who, for all you know, could still be a dreaded orcish double agent. I hope to ease your mind on that front: I too lost a brother to the Horde. His name was Derek and the waves had become his grave, way before his time. That should tell you everything there is to know about my allegiances. I am sharing this because you brought up your mother. Tit for tat? How about that for a principle from now on?_

_On the topic of preconceptions, I should mention that your sentimentality was a surprise, albeit not an unwelcome one. Vereesa described you as pragmatic and headstrong, honour-bound and selfless - great words to describe a mythic hero but I’m partial to the deeds of mortals. Your romantic tendencies surely smoothen some of your edges. I tell you this so that you can sharpen them back up, should you wish to do so._

_I have finished your book and I am now trying to tread through the Thalassian version of it. I believe I’m missing crucial parts of the context and I’m considerably irked by that. I wrote you a short list of words and phrases I could not understand and could not research either. Should you find yourself devoid of Very Important Duties, you can always occupy yourself with some translation. You’re most welcome._

_You did ask me for some book suggestions, so I included a copy of_ Stormy Seas. _It is the perfect read for a romantic such as yourself. I am certain you will enjoy it._

  
  


_Al diel shala,_

_Jaina Proudmoore_

  
  


This time, Sylvanas laughed without previous deliberation, taking in the garish cover of _Stormy Seas_ \- all rippling muscles and rippling waves. A romance novel, it was not. 

Jaina knew this too, surely, and Sylvanas had to applaud her cheek. She had waxed poetic about the purity of unrequited love and Jaina had sent her a novel lonely wives would read while their husbands were at war. She flipped through it and stopped at the first sentence that caught her eye.

“Do you have any Kul Tiran fare? I've heard it's famous for its succulence. A rare pleasure to the tongue,” she read it out loud and grinned in astonishment. 

She could play Jaina’s game, whatever it was, she decided. If Jaina wanted her to read this book, she would indulge her and she would make it as embarrassing for Jaina as she could manage. She was still on leave for two more days, after all.

~~~  
  


_Dear Vereesa,_

_I hope your mission is going well and that my fears about your safety are only hysterics. You should come back soon, victorious and in one piece, to tell me how silly I am being._

_Don’t worry, I enchanted the envelope as we discussed; it should self-immolate if anyone else tries to open it. I suppose that also means that you might never get this letter? I still need to think about some fail-safes._

_How are you? Are you still attached to all your limbs? Do they keep you well? How do you find Rhonin? He was nothing but kind whenever I met him but I’ve also never had to spend days alone with him._

_On the topic of kindness, it should please you to know that your sister replied to me the other day._

_You didn’t lie when you said she was testy._

_She is a bit of a prick._

_I would be dishonest if I said I hated it._

_Aside from lecturing and insulting me, she sent me a copy of_ Dath’Remar and Tyrande _and I’m already knee-deep into that story. She also sent me some political cartoons of Kael’Thas as a peacock. I would be concerned about that but she told me she had also sent them to Kael’Thas and she lived to tell the tale. I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on._

_Please write to me as soon as you’re able,_

_Love,_

_Jaina_

  
  


Vereesa had to put a palm up to her mouth to hide her smile. Jaina’s letter had long been waiting for her at the Hasic Post Office when they arrived. Gazing at Jaina’s slanted writing and lacklustre loops brightened her otherwise subpar day. It turned out that no one notified Lordaeron of the arrival of summer because it was raining all sorts of small mammals.

“Good news, I hope,” Rhonin said behind her, having just received his own mail. Vereesa was relieved that she wasn’t the only person resembling a sad, wet rodent.

“The best,” she said and smiled at him. “I’m playing matchmaker between my best friend and my sister. It is going well so far.”

“That’s sweet of you,” he said. “You could also match me up with someone someday. Us academic types are terrible at dating.”

“Oh no,” Vereesa said. “It’s not like that. It is a friendship match. They are befriending each other.”

Rhonin made a noncommittal humming sound and Vereesa squinted at him. It wasn’t like Rhonin knew anything at all.

~~~

_Dear Lady Proudmoore,_

_It seems as though all I do these days is apologising to you in manners of varying sincerity. This one will be of the utmost sincere sort I promise you: I am sorry about your brother and I am sorry that my mouth (or hand?) ran quicker than my mind. Back when I wrote my first letter, I had not put two and two together about your lineage. It was a blunder in etiquette big enough that I should have never allowed myself to make it. For that, I ask for your forgiveness._

_To chart towards lighter topics, I must ask you: how far does that tit for tat principle go? Are we going to relay hard truths about ourselves until the end of time? Because I am not ready to be so forthcoming about my losses just yet. Are you willing to accept my soft truths instead? Semi-hard truths?_

_As you might be able to tell, I have read the novel you picked out for me and I did it so with a critical eye befitting of a romantic such as myself._

_Unsurprisingly, I found a lot of factual errors about lovemaking. I was expecting that much, still, I must express my shock and horror that the people of Kul Tiras do not know how to-_

Jaina dropped the letter as if it was on fire. She was sure her face was also on fire.

She drummed her fingers on her table, trying to figure out how she ended up playing herself instead of playing Sylvanas. She thought getting back at her for the pamphlets was a foolproof plan. She wanted nothing more than a little outrage from Sylvanas and in the end she was awarded an essay on the apparent lack of bedtime competence of Kul Tirans, and she couldn’t even get herself to read it. 

She took a shaky breath, chased away the imaginary voices of her old classmates calling her ‘Prudemoore’, and read on. She was overcome with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify as she deciphered Sylvanas’ thorough literary analysis of _Stormy Seas_ , delving into character motivations and themes. It was utterly ridiculous.

It was even more ridiculous to find out that Sylvanas took her time to translate all 174 of the phrases Jaina included in her short list.

_Tentative fondness._

She settled on that name for her unidentifiable emotion. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:
> 
> Jaina learns about the mortifying ordeal of being known, Sylvanas' dark secret is revealed, Vereesa and Rhonin get wet together, and Nathanos shows up to remind us that he canonically exists. The Title gets dropped, and the Plot gets foreshadowed and then delayed until Chapter Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support! I really enjoy writing this story and it is cool to know that someone, somewhere likes it enough to check back on it :)

_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_We have only just arrived in Hasic, so please don’t think I have been ignoring you. We had a bit of a hold up on the way here and as much as I want to tell you all the gory details of that, it will have to wait until we come home. What’s important is that we are all unharmed and that I cut a very fetching figure in your wet season compatible overcoat. Once I actually remembered to put it on, I was in Heaven. A very wet, very gloomy Heaven._

_Rhonin helped me with the enchantment on this letter and he promised me it wouldn’t immolate your quarters, so if the entire Violet Citadel ends up in flames, just know that it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. By the way, he wanted me to tell you to talk to Archmage Modera because she wrote a dissertation on arcane encryption and she would talk to a pack of gnolls about it if they were enthusiastic enough. (and you’re a lot better listener than most gnolls I have met)_

_Things are going with our mission. I’m not sure I would attach an adverb to that yet. The weather is mostly awful but Rhonin is nice (he will probably read this so I couldn’t say otherwise), the other squad members are fine too, all very professional, very dedicated, and I still don’t know what I’m doing._

_I’m much more interested to hear how things are going with Sylvanas. I was quite surprised to hear she had sent you_ Dath’Remar and Tyrande _, because that is her go-to crying material whenever she is heartbroken. Please, don’t tell her I told you that. She has this carefully curated image of herself that opposes any mushiness. I’m sure you have already noticed this, hence the “prick” comment._

_Perhaps my sister is down in the dumps? She didn’t mention this the last time we met and now I’m a little worried for her. She really doesn’t handle breakups all that well. The last time it happened she decided to study basketry. I very well remember what I said about the correlation of emotional turmoil and hobbies but you have to admit that artisan basketry is hardly a normal response. I’m only telling you this so that you will know to interfere if she mentions a sudden urge to take up tinsmithing or cartography or something like that._

_Anyway, I’m glad to see that I was right about you two hitting it off. Insulting you is her love language, you know? If she wasn’t interested in befriending you, she would just ignore you._

_I know you aren’t at such big words yet but let a girl dream, Jaina._

  
  


_Much love and (wet) hugs from your best friend,_

_Vereesa_

  
  


Jaina shook her head slowly and grinned. Vereesa always knew how to lift her spirits, even if she was so damn clueless about the whys and the hows sometimes. For a dreadful moment she had to ask herself if that was her type: people who only got the joke a month later. If so, she needed to strong-arm herself into sensibility. 

She placed the letter on her nightstand right next to _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_. The cover looked inviting in its simplicity, so she stroked over it with the very tip of her fingers, as if she had anticipated to be struck down by a storm of lightning should she make the wrong move. With a sigh she had been accumulating for what felt like years, she lied down on top of the neatly made covers of her bed. She folded her hands over her chest, over her heart. The ceiling she had enchanted to look like the night sky of Boralus stared back at her, forlorn and a little judgemental, as she tried to make sense of the events of the last two weeks.

Vereesa was a revelation but Sylvanas was even more so, to a degree that Jaina couldn’t deny anymore her genuine excitement whenever she heard the familiar double-knock of the mailman on her door. Her private quarters weren’t private enough to spare her the gossip mill. In just two short weeks she had become the concubine of Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider but their sordid affair had been cut short when she found herself pregnant with Arthas’ child. (According to Khadgar who had very helpfully summarised the Kirin Tor scuttlebutt to her over lunch the previous day.) By how fast things were progressing in her fictitious life, she was ready to give birth to triplets. Strangely, no one thought she was simply writing home to her parents and that hurt a little.

She only hoped the gossip was confined to Dalaran because she wished for nothing less than to have to talk to Arthas about their nonexistent bastard child. Or, to talk about anything, really. There was residual resentment and even remorse over years and emotional labour wasted, and no apology from him could give any of that back. It was better to let bygones be bygones and the best way to do so, in her opinion, was for them to keep to their respective sides of Lordamere Lake. 

Looking over at the stack of letters she had received from Sylvanas, she decided it was high time they circumvented the entire postal service of Azeroth. The gossip mill had to stop. 

Jaina threw herself off her bed and got to work.

~~~

_Dear Lady Windrunner,_

  
  


_Thank you for your apology. All is forgiven and I only ask that you preemptively forgive all my future missteps of the same nature as I’m hardly immune to errors myself. I’m not asking too much, am I?_

_And thank you for taking the time to write up a dictionary for me. Your attached notes on the legibility of my handwriting or lack thereof brought honest joy to my heart. I added my list in hopes that you would find me annoying and I shall take every victory, minuscule as they might be._

_If all you do is apologising, all I shall do is thanking you - your study on Love, for lack of a better word I would dare put to paper, was informative and instructional to the point I should just send it out to all my future lovers. They might not thank you for my increased demands but I think I shall. Your donation to the nation of Kul Tiras is noted and appreciated. You should expect a gift basket in the coming weeks. I sincerely hope you enjoy lye-pickled cod._

_I understand that Windrunner Spire is not your permanent residence, so I dabbled in a bit of research in the last two days to figure out a way for us to communicate. I presume you wish to continue our parley otherwise you wouldn’t be so quick to write back. I only hope you enjoy our sport as much as I do. Unless of course you’re nought but a masochist who simply revels in the agony of my company, in which case I should let you know that I also subsist in the material plane and I’m perfectly capable of tormenting you in person._

_You shall find an unassuming brown envelope in your package with a simple letter ‘J’ written on it. It is a two-way portal. Totally contained and presumably mostly safe, that is if you refrain from sticking your hand in places they shouldn’t be stuck. I shall let you ponder that._

_I have the twin of it with me, and everything you put through your portal, granted it fits its dimensions, should appear in my own envelope. The purple twine I attached to it is the lock: if your heart’s desire isn’t to get accidentally sucked into a portal bit-by-bit, just tie a sailor’s hitch on it. You might wonder why I handed you something so volatile. Well, I presume that a couple thousand years of existence was plenty enough to learn how to tie a simple knot. If I had all the time in the world, I would use it to master all manners of things. Like basketry._

_I advise you to use the envelope with discretion, both regarding its future contents and its very existence. While I’m not an authority on corporate or military espionage, I do believe it would be useful for either and Tides forbid that the esteemed Ranger-General incriminate herself by leaving Envelopes of Suspect Origin lying around. I would suggest you make use of your pockets after all._

_As a demonstration of my skill (and if it doesn’t work then it is a demonstration in itself), I packed you a couple Dalaran-style pretzels, arcane-infused to last a week. I hope you do partake of food and you do not only sustain yourself on my embarrassment. You would soon discover that I don’t have all that much of that to offer but I implore you to try me nevertheless._

_(And if you try them, I’d like for you to tell me which pretzel you liked better)_

  
  


_With tentative fondness,_

_Jaina Proudmoore_

  
  


Sylvanas pointedly ignored the basketry comment. She couldn’t even cherish the feeling of being rightfully annoyed by Vereesa, because her entire mind was taken over by two words:

_Tentative fondness._

Sylvanas tossed that phrase around in her mind idly. It was perhaps forward of Jaina, as everything they had written so far was forward in its own way. For now, Sylvanas wanted to opt out of dissecting whatever they were doing, putting a name to it and pushing it into a box. It felt oddly calming to untether her heart like it was a kite and allow it to be swept up by any passing current of warm air. 

_I’m perfectly capable of tormenting you in person._

Jaina’s presence had become near palpable around Windrunner Spire in the last few days, seemingly turning more corporeal every time Sylvanas reread one of her letters. She was undecided on how she felt about that or about the prospect of amping up that atmosphere with Jaina’s actual presence.

Before she could sink deeper inside her own head, she took the neatly packaged bag of pretzels that Jaina had tied together with simple twine, and opened it. The pretzels were the size of her palms, soft and a little shapeless (no vendor in Silvermoon would be caught with faulty wares like that), two of them were sprinkled with poppy seeds, two with sesame seeds and two with generous amounts of sea salt.

It was her last day at the Spire and she intended to make the best of her evening, sitting out on her balcony with a bottle of Dalaran White she had ordered from the capital a few days ago in a fit of fancy. The pretzels doubtless paired better with beer and she made a mental note to test that out one day with the right company.

She took the Envelope of Suspect Origin and turned it over to trace the small “J” with her thumb. A sustained portal that small that had bypassed the Quel’Thalas Arcane Post Office without anyone noticing anything. She started to understand what Kael’thas saw in Jaina, and if she had started all that understanding way before, it wasn’t something she had to actively confront. At least not tonight.

She saved one of the pretzels for later.

~~~

_Dear Lady Proudmoore,_

  
  


_I thank you for your gift - the two-way portal is an elegant solution. I shall spare you the laurels for now. We would not want your head to get big enough to get stuck in the Silvermoon city gates. I know you have a self-professed predilection for diplomatic incidents but we only enjoy inconvenience when we get to cause it._

_You should be gratified in your knowledge that the Envelope of Suspect Origin made its way into the inside pocket of my coat and found a permanent residence there. Possessing this artefact and neglecting to share the intelligence with the Master of Spies is reason enough to be stripped off my rank and to be banished, thus I shall keep it right here under my heart. If my life falls apart, I shall know who to blame._

_My take on the pretzels: I quite liked them but the only kind I would integrate into my diet was the salted one. The sesame seed pretzel was too bland and poppy seed should go inside the dough and not dumped all over it like an afterthought. In any case, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that you too partake of food and you do not only sustain yourself on my annoyance, and the occasional mana cake, which, by the way, is an affront to the very concept of a meal._

_You shall find dried bloodberry bars in the EOSO. They had been exposed to the light of the Sunwell, so they should give you enough sugar and arcane energy to tide you over a night spent bending over books, which I imagine you do all the time._

_I shall pass on a not too well-kept state secret (by now, I could hardly hurt my case more): most of our food is heavily arcane-infused. If someone, such as yourself, is sensitive to the arcane they might find themselves nauseated by it at first. If they get past that stage, they might find themselves a bit too drawn to our cuisine and while it is much superior to whatever sludge you get in Dalaran, it is truly not good enough to lose your mind over it._

_Before you visit us, make sure you build up your tolerance with the bloodberry bars. We do not allow many outsiders to stay too long for a reason. The idea that you might get drunk on arcane energy, strip naked and jump into the fountain at the city square is nightmarish. You should ask Archmage Antonidas about my inspiration for that vivid mental image._

_But let us sail onto more pleasurable subject matters. I am simultaneously satisfied and disheartened by the news that I was able tell you anything new about the Art of Love. Satisfied for I could contribute to your future satisfaction and disheartened that I could not do it so sooner. Perhaps this arcane knowledge could have saved all of your past affairs if I were around to disclose it._

_Lye-pickled cod sounds like the last thing I would eat in this earthly incarnation. As I am not looking for an early grave, I shall leave it to other people with stomachs lined with iron and taste buds refined under sandpaper. If you must present me with a reward for my services, I would much rather pick a bottle of Kul Tiran ale. I have only heard terrible things about it. Since I am a masochist according to you, I think I am allowed some morbid fascination with the numerous ways you make your life all the more miserable._

_Lastly, I have a question for you, Lady Proudmoore. If your tentative fondness for me still stands, and we have the same understanding of Common phrases, I would invite you to call me by my first name. By quel’dorei custom I am your senior both in age and rank, which makes it my prerogative to decide on the standard of formality we should aim for in our conversations._

_With some careful consideration I concluded that I would prefer to aim lower. I am unfamiliar with Kul Tiran protocol so I shall leave you to meet me halfway if you share my preferences._

_May the winds be in your favour,_

  
  


_With fondness of the similarly tentative kind,_

_Sylvanas_

  
  


Jaina was suddenly more than happy that, as Antonidas’ star pupil, she was subject to shameful levels of favouritism. She wouldn’t have wanted a roommate to witness her fit that consisted of burying her face in her pillow, groaning into said pillow, pushing herself up on her elbows, and then throwing herself face first into the pillow yet again for good measure.

_Call me by my first name._

Jaina found that request intimate somehow, even though it was probably just common courtesy on Sylvanas’ part, reasonable and expected after two weeks of continuous correspondence. She was annoyed with herself, annoyed by the giddy feeling that had bloomed larger inside her chest with every letter from Sylvanas. 

Yet, she couldn’t deny how nice it felt to be goaded on by Sylvanas. Every prod of hers was answered by a jab of her own, less antagonistic and more affable with every turn, and she started to feel a mutual understanding coalesce from every answered or ignored question they had aimed at each other.

There was a Jaina in that understanding, who was not Daelin Proudmoore’s daughter, not Antonidas’ favourite student, not the former betrothed of Prince Arthas Menethil of Lordaeron - only testy and quick and unrestrained Jaina. The private self she rarely recognised anymore.

_Perhaps this arcane knowledge could have saved all of your past affairs if I were around to disclose it._

Jaina laughed into her pillow at the thought, the sound coming out muffled. What an idea that was: Arthas and Sylvanas sitting by a table, most ardently discussing the methods of pleasuring a woman. Arthas would be defensive and blushed from his chest to the top of his head and Sylvanas-

Sylvanas was a riddle. 

Jaina turned to lie on her side, strangely humbled by the knowledge that she could not imagine Sylvanas, she could not point her out in a crowd or liken a sound to her voice, and she definitely could not tell if she would also blush from her chest to the top of her head.

The sky over Boralus loomed large above her and Jaina felt particularly small.

~~~

“Ranger Lord.” Sylvanas greeted Nathanos with a nod. 

“Good morning, General. You look well. Did you enjoy your leave?”

Nathanos shot off a salute at her, his blue and golden armor gleaming in the already hot early morning sun as he moved. Sylvanas figured that he would have almost looked like he belonged in her ranks if it wasn’t for his short and well-kept goatee. How he acquired it so fast was beyond her. _Hairy humans._ She could have made a note on the violation of their code but she let it slide. For now. 

“Parts of it, yes,” she said. “I did get myself back into form. Do you have anything to report, Ranger Lord, or are you just here to chat me up?”

“We have news of troll sightings in Southern Eversong Forest,” he relayed as they started their usual track along the city walls. “Our scouts report a minor encampment west of Zul’Aman, not far from the Sanctum of the Sun.”

“They don’t know how to quit, do they,” Sylvanas drawled, trying to keep the weariness out of her voice. “Do we have exact numbers?”

“Not yet, General,” Nathanos said and nodded at a fellow ranger who passed them and gave Sylvanas an enthusiastic salute.

“Well, get them.” Sylvanas stopped and looked over the trading routes criss-crossing the woods in the distance. They were busy as ever - travelling merchants distributing the bread freshly baked in Silvermoon and tradesmen marching up from Windrunner Village with bundles of tanned hides. “And do make sure the scouts don’t antagonise them yet. Anything else to report?”

“Our recruits are in good form,” Nathanos told her. “Ranger Velonara told me that you are most welcome to oversee their afternoon drills.”

Sylvanas’ mouth twitched and she said, “I can think of few things more urgent than to watch the greenhorns fumble about around me.”

Nathanos huffed in amusement. “I’ll let her know to expect you.”

“If that’s all, I’m going to catch up on some much needed administration,” Sylvanas said and turned back towards the city. “My favourite, as you know.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Nathanos added after a beat. “Prince Kael’thas has arrived from Dalaran and he requested your audience. At your earliest convenience.”

Sylvanas groaned.

“I wish you just forgot that entirely.”

“I tried my best, General.”

“Very well.” Sylvanas nodded at him, and said, “Thank you, Ranger Lord. To your station.”

“With respect, General, I still don’t have one.”

“Just pick a tree you like and perch on top of it.”

Nathanos snorted and then straightened himself to look more dignified. 

“The Prince will be glad to see you in good spirits,” he said and saluted her with finality. 

“You know, Nathanos”-Sylvanas fished out the last of her pretzels from the inside pocket of her overcoat-“I think I _am_ in good spirits. Now go and do your job.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:
> 
> Jaina can't handle the tenderness of first name basis so she goes ballistic, Sylvanas catches some tentative feelings but crushes them, Kael'thas is a worse-than-average friend who overuses the word 'little', and the Plot finally gets introduced!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little plot-heavy. It had to be done because I want to get to chapter 5 ASAP. Don't worry, this story won't be about the Plague or the Third War. If you are a fan of Sylvanas not getting brutally murdered by Arthas Menethil, then you should be happy to hear it. This fic will remain character-centric nevertheless.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support! It makes my day when I get to read what you enjoyed about each chapter.

“Sylvanas!” Kael’thas came bursting through the door of his study, wearing the most impractical robe that would surely return to haunt Sylvanas’ dreams, perfectly in line with the latest Silvermoon fashion. It was iridescent green, flappy, and it sported a less-than-discreet chest window. “My, you look delectable today, Ranger-General! You got enough beauty sleep lately, I presume?”

“I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour now,” Sylvanas said and made sure to look properly unimpressed. “I thought you’d be more eager to see me.”

“Ah, but I’m always eager to see you,” Kael’thas said and that was the end of that. “I have so much to tell you! Sit down, sit down.”

He ushered her towards his indecently expensive-looking sofa and his ashenwood coffee table that was easily worth more than the accumulated monthly salary of the entire army of Quel’Thalas. Sylvanas was quite used to opulence but Kael’thas was a bit too much even for her. 

While Sylvanas rearranged the pillows to make some space, Kael’thas prepared a kettle of honeymint tea, then made the water boil with a simple touch of his palm. That was definitely a trick Sylvanas envied.

“A piping hot tea in summer is the best way to fight the heat. A little counter-intuitive, isn’t it?” Kael’thas said as he poured her a cup. “Lemon? Or wait! How wild are you feeling? A spike of rum?”

“No, thank you”-Sylvanas took her tea from him-“but you could interest me in the point of this meeting.”

“A thousand years of my good influence,” he said and wagged his index finger at her, “and yet you’re still uncivilised.”

“Only with you.” Sylvanas smiled, lightly, and raised her cup at him as a mock-salute. “I’m most civil with the people I like.”

“Oh, Sylvanas. You don’t like anybody.” He laughed and drank some. Sylvanas only raised an eyebrow at him, unwilling to entertain him further.

“So, you must be curious about the reason for our little reunion,” Kael’thas said and Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “You know I have my big, ambitious project-”

“Yes. The _Sunwell_.” Sylvanas groaned. “I know. That’s all you ever talk about.”

“It is important to me!” Kael’thas huffed in indignation. “You don’t have an abundance of friends so you might not know this, but it is only polite to be a little passionate about their passions.”

Sylvanas didn’t like his tone. She _had_ shown interest, numerous times. Kael’thas had just never bothered with the art of reciprocation.

“Don’t you have other friends? I think we had this exact conversation a couple thousand times already but I admit I lost track somewhere around seven-hundred.”

“Yes, well, I need someone to bounce my ideas off.”

“Have you tried your fellow academics?” Sylvanas put her empty cup down and then grabbed one of the many pamphlets Kael’thas kept around. Cartoon Kael’thas was apparently crying over a pregnant woman. _How strange._ She dropped it back on the table. “How about Rommath?”

“He is brilliant but he could never have your open and unburdened mind.”

Sylvanas snorted and said, “Very nice, Kael.”

Kael’thas winked at her and continued, “Anyhow, most of my discoveries have proved to be inconsequential in the grand scheme of things but not the last one.” He paused for what felt like the longest moment in high elven history. “I figured out how to fix our _Homesickness._ ”

Sylvanas cleared her throat. She was hardly expecting _that._

It was a phrase they had coined together once, because Kael’thas thought it funny to name their affliction after something so harmless and even nostalgic. The _Homesickness_ was the force that propelled them towards the Sunwell, a craving burning them up like they were stars on the brink of collapse. Only an uncomfortable buzzing in the ears of the common folk, but a deep, clawing need inside every magic user. Their hunger was so strong that they could ignore it only for so long before they had to drop everything and travel right back to the Isle of Quel’Danas. For some of them it was a matter of years, for others it was only a few hours. If anyone asked why they had never expanded their kingdom to the South, they all only said they enjoyed the safety of their solitude and the superiority of their culture. 

It was a lie told routinely and now even most liars believed it.

Sylvanas knew it was more than a pet project to Kael’thas - he wanted to bring on the new Golden Age of the high elves after hundreds of years of stagnation. It was the herald of their slow decline, and Kael was terrified of having to go down in history books as the last High King of Quel’Thalas.

_“_ You figured it out,” Sylvanas started, “or you just read some vague scroll about it?”

“I figured out which vague scroll to read.”

“Kael-”

“Sylvanas, I’m serious,” he said and freed his hands from his cup. “I have worked on this for years, piecing together fragments of texts, chasing down allusions that lead me nowhere. I know that most of that was a waste of time”-Sylvanas kept her comments-“but I really believe I finally have something worthy to pursue.”

“Alright,” Sylvanas said after a pregnant pause. “If you believe that, I believe you.”

“Thank you!” Kael’thas threw his head back and laughed, visibly relieved. “For once, you aren’t my only supporter, too. I have Father and Archmage Antonidas on my side.”

“Antonidas?” Sylvanas swallowed, then said. “Is that why you called Jaina to Silvermoon?”

“Jaina?” Kael’thas’ smile turned sly. “I didn’t know you were so familiar with the esteemed Lady Proudmoore.”

“Not personally,” Sylvanas lied. “She is Vereesa’s best friend.”

“Oh, indeed.” Kael’thas hummed. “They are very close. Maybe a little too close? Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Tell me you didn’t invite her just so you can woo her,” she said, sighing. “I don’t have the stomach for that.”

“Not _just._ She is much more than some pretty face”-Sylvanas shot him a look that could ignite his robes-“She is also an excellent frost mage who has great rapport with water elementals,” Kael’thas explained. “Where we are going, we shall need all of that and more.”

~~~

Jaina’s heart was beating out of her chest. She had been down at the Kirin Tor canteen having a late lunch and discussing encryption magic with Modera when she felt the familiar, magically enhanced weight of a letter in the Envelope. She had enchanted it to notify her should Sylvanas contact her, and now all she could think was that something was _off_. 

She hadn’t had the time… No. She hadn’t had the _nerve_ to write back to Sylvanas just yet, because her feelings were too intangible. Someone had dissolved all of them in water and no one asked her if she was fine with it. The realisation that she felt strange kinship with a woman she had never met, that she longed to be in her presence, longed to know her smile or the quirks of her body language - it hit her hard across the chest. 

She had jumped out of her chair to run all the way up to her quarters, leaving Modera to make whatever assumption she wished to make about that.

There she was then, sitting cross-legged on her bed, Sylvanas’ letter laid out across her ankles.

  
  


_Dear Lady Proudmoore,_

  
  


_Do not take this as admonishment but I could not wait longer for your reply, for I have new information to relay that affects you personally, and it is of the time sensitive sort. I only hope I don’t bother you by reaching out again so soon._

_It might interest you that I had an audience yesterday with the most beautiful peacock in Quel’Thalas, who filled me in on his future projects. Our discussion left me with more questions than answers, a standard outcome for the two of us, yet I feel a hitherto unknown drive to excavate the full picture from under all his half-truths and diversions. He painted one of rogue water elementals, Old Gods, and long forgotten Artefacts of Light. That is all quite in line with his tendencies and I shall not judge him for chasing shadows. I shall, however, judge him for his plan to sail to Kalimdor, of all places, and I shall judge him for even entertaining the idea of endangering others along himself._

_For him, I am concerned. For the young frost mage he roped into assisting him? I am frightened._

_If I were her superior at Kirin Tor, I would forbid her from going. As it stand, I am not nor shall I ever be in a position to forbid her anything, which is as it should be. Thus, all I can do is to urge her, as her friend, to discuss the matter with Archmage Antonidas, as he may prove to be more forthcoming than our beloved prince._

  
  


_With fondness and trepidation,_

_Sylvanas_

  
  


Jaina’s brain was shunted by a short-circuit. For such a short letter, clearly written with haste, as Sylvanas’ normally impeccable lettering was a grade lower than usual, it sure was packed with a lot of lines that sent her reeling.

Old Gods. Kalimdor. Artefacts of Light. 

_As her friend. I am frightened._

How typical, that those were the ones that grabbed her the most. She was almost cordial with the annoyance that tightened around her ribs.

She went to fan herself with the letter; she was flushed, overheated and she couldn’t open her window for the air was sluggish and didn’t carry the slightest breeze. It would make no difference. Her hand stopped for a moment, then she slapped herself in the face with Sylvanas’ letter, and groaned. _For Tides’s sake, I am a fool._ She cast a quick chilling spell on her room and she laughed, shakily. Her nerves truly were all over the place if she forgot _magic_. It was as comical as it was pathetic, and it was all the cue she needed to steel herself and meet Sylvanas halfway, as she had suggested.

She reread the letter to focus her thoughts. She was neither surprised nor disappointed in Kael’thas - all of this fit the image she had of him: grandiose, self-centered and secretive. She wondered if he had fooled Antonidas with the suggestion of the research position, if he had downplayed it all to him too as he had done to her. Antonidas certainly hadn’t mentioned _Kalimdor_ to her, at the very least. 

She carefully folded the letter into a spare envelope, locked it away in her drawer, then left to search for her master.

~~~

_Dear Sylvanas,_

  
  


_Do you prefer “Sylvanas”? Or should I call you “Sylv”? I am quite partial to any abbreviation you abhor, so please be ever-so-kind and divulge that piece of arcane knowledge too, now that you find it fashionable to shower me with your secrets._

_I cannot believe how well you came to read my mind - I want nothing more than to get drunk, strip naked and display my questionable assets to the long-suffering citizens of Silvermoon as a token of the Kirin Tor’s goodwill. I am most offended to learn that you would mind that. Our cultural traditions are just as sacred as yours and if my good master found it important to practice them, it is only fitting that I follow his example._

_Now that we are on the topic of Master Antonidas, I should mention that I took your advice and sought his audience, and through that I found out that our confusion over the contents of your letter is only shared to a degree. Antonidas is well aware of the rogue water elemental bit and he thinks it is a tremendous opportunity for me to research these so-called Hydraxian Waterlords. Everything else was news to him too, including our destination. To say the least, he was less than impressed with the information asymmetry. Apparently the story Kael’thas is selling for now is “we are going on an island” and “it will be a short trip”. Technically, Kalimdor is an island, and technically, two weeks of sailing is a lot less time than if we were to circumnavigate the globe. I’m sure Kael’thas considers that truth-adjacent._

_(You should know that I did not reveal us to Antonidas. For all he knows, all of this originated from Kael’thas himself during our private conversations. By now, I expect all of Dalaran assuming I am courted by our prince, and I shall use this fact to my advantage.)_

_Antonidas told me that he would arrange to move up our departure to Silvermoon as he would like to, and I quote him on this, “clear the air with that pompous twit” so I shall meet you sooner than I predicted. That is, if you are still a masochist looking to burden yourself with the delight I am. If that is the price I have to pay for me to put a face to your words, I promise I shall be decent. I shall not shed my clothes in the middle of the city square, even if a chance to turn up in your nightmares is so, so tempting. That is a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I can make no promises for my teacher, however, so do not feed him anything. (I myself have been on a bloodberry diet for several days now.)_

_That should be my cue to express my thanks for the bars. While I found them almost inedible (are you certain they are supposed to be sour_ and _salty?), they did help me stay awake whenever I had to do a lot of bending over things, books mainly, sometimes plates, you surely know it._

_All that talk about my satisfaction, future, present, and past - I know you only wish to make me blush. But alas, you haven’t. And if you have, you shan’t know. I’m a vision when I do, my face is blotchy red and my eyes almost always tear up a bit. You should see it for yourself._

_I shall not mourn any of my past affairs but I do thank you for your honest interest in my well being. You needn’t worry about my love life, however, for it’s in the most capable hands -_ mine _._

_Tit for tat?_

  
  


_Looking forward to testing how much of a bite you truly have, my friend._

  
  


_Yours,_

_Jaina_

_(Just Jaina, I have never had a pet name.)_

  
  


Sylvanas dropped Jaina’s letter. 

She was lying on her back, under a thin blanket, and the letter hit her square in the face. She half-expected it to go up in flames with how hot her face felt, tingling and tight. 

Jaina was _flirting_ with her. This definitely fell under the dictionary definition of flirting. Everything else so far she could put under the “joking” or the “teasing” labels but not that line. 

_You needn’t worry about my love life, however, for it’s in the most capable hands - mine._

As if someone pulled a lever, Sylvanas’ blush gave space to laughter she couldn’t stop from bubbling past her lips at the utter ridiculousness of this woman. She thought Jaina would never again match the incinerating power of _Stormy Seas,_ yet here she was.

Sylvanas had added certain _undertones_ to her letters because Jaina had reacted in most entertaining, witty ways, and she enjoyed pushing her proverbial buttons. She went through Jaina’s lines with a fine-toothed comb, searching for an opening, then she took her time to pick her own words with utmost care. It was a mental exercise that left her with a thrill she hadn’t felt in ages. These weeks were heart-pounding and air-light at the same time.

But now, she had clearly gone too far because Jaina decided to take a turn with the undertones and innuendos. _That was not supposed to be like that._ Sylvanas felt positively wild. Wild and very much affected.

She buried her face in her hands and wiped away the few tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. If Alleria saw her like this, fighting through a laughing fit and getting crushed under the weight of her bad decisions, she would call her an idiot. She missed her voice more than anything, because she remembered it best - deadpan and so very tired, telling her that she had made her bed and she should lie in it too. She had tried her best to take on the mantle of the disappointed big sister, but the truth was simple: she would never match Alleria’s tone perfected for chastising morons of the Windrunner kind. She could use some chastising now.

Huffing, she threw the covers off and went to pace her small Silvermoon apartment, sleep having left her for good. She took stock of her sparse furniture - mostly unadorned and considered bland by elven standards, and her eyes landed on her writing desk. Her mother’s writing desk, if she wanted to be precise, for this was Lireesa’s apartment once when she was the Ranger-General. Only a small place to sleep when duty called her away to the capital. Sylvanas had kept everything as it once was: practical and devoid of any personal touches besides that one family portrait she had moved from the Spire. Her gaze lingered on the painting. It even had Lirath on it as a toddler, held in the arms of a very proud-looking Sylvanas. She could recall that day in stark detail - the weight of Lirath in her arms, the weight of Alleria’s palm upon her shoulders, the nauseating smell of oil paint that stuck to her clothes and her hair. Her father whispering to her mother all along, quietly enough that none of his nosy children could pick up on it. She stopped herself from touching the paint. It was already a pain to have it restored every few decades.

She wondered if Jaina would like her place. It couldn’t have been all that different from the quarters of a Kirin Tor apprentice, she figured. Maybe she should tidy it up. She could even buy a few plants to make it nicer. Jaina probably liked nice things.

She shattered that entire thought process with decisive brutality before it could run away from her. She visualised Alleria’s pitying face, the one she had used on her when she took up basketry fifty years ago, and she found it more than adequate to knock some sense in her. She shall keep this as what it is: a battle of wits with no rules and only winners. And if Jaina could turn up the heat, so could she.

~~~

_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_This letter shall be short as I’d much rather continue discussing your cultural traditions in person._

_I am glad you took heed of my advice and I am glad that Antonidas is only getting old and senile but never witless. He has always been fond of Kael’thas and fondness makes us biased, therefore I was more than a little worried that he might be as much of a staunch supporter of his plans as our prince told me._

_I am also glad that the two of you are to visit us soon. Kael’thas told me to expect you in three days so I shall save up all my expectations until then. I must confess you have given me a lot to work with, and a lot of mental images to ignore until I can confront you about them._

_Lastly, Jaina, I shall not call you pet names. I like your name perfectly well as it is - it rolls of the tongue. Vereesa says it tenderly, Kael’thas says it slyly, and I’m eager to hear how_ you _say it. I want to perfect the inflection. You are welcome to call me Sylvanas and I would prefer if you didn’t get too creative with it._

  
  


_Buy me dinner and you shall see how my bite is._

  
  


_Yours,_

_Sylvanas_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should (ideally) be up on Sunday. It will be a lot less plot and a lot more fun of the sylvaina variety.  
> Our ladies will finally Meet In Person.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:
> 
> Jaina is cooler than she thought she would be, Sylvanas is less cool than she expected, Modera dishes out some A+ professional advice, Vereesa hasn't acquired a single braincell, Rhonin keeps to his Kassandra role where he foresees the future but no one listens to him, Nathanos can't catch a break, Ranger Anya is suffering for fashion and Antonidas can't wait to get wasted. Our ladies finally figure out if they can work as friends. In real time. Breathing the same air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your continued support! I get some of the funniest comments in the world (according to me) :) This chapter is a bit of an intro. Next chapter will see our ladies spend the night together.

_Dear Vereesa,_

  
  


_Your letter brightened my day; I’m so very glad to know you are all well despite the weather (I am also glad that I strong-armed you into taking my coat. I agree it is incredibly important to look your best while you’re on a covert mission.)_

_I have talked to Modera as Rhonin suggested. Please, pass on my thanks to him; our consultation was more than fruitful and I think your best friend might have figured out her next big arcane project._

_I had no idea that encryption was also an area of Modera’s expertise but then again she is a notorious hoarder of expertise. Did Rhonin know that she also wrote a study on the medical applications of red dragon whelp spit? She had found no uses for it so (as one does) she filled in ten yards of parchments with the exact ways one ought not to apply dragon spit. It was as educational as it was disturbing._

_My new studies have to wait, however, because I seem to be moving up in the world faster than I have expected, and by “up” I mean “north”, as I am a day away from changing my residence to Silvermoon (albeit, only for a few days). I bless my foresight; I have taken my studies in Thalassian rather seriously and I had a tutor who took herself seriously. Now, I’m confident enough to know that I shall not get shipped over to Menethil Harbour by accident or end up joining a doomsday cult. I am not sure which out of those two options Mother would consider the more scandalous one._

_I think it is about time I thank you for passing on my letter to your sister. As it stands, you shall not have the chance to introduce the two of us in a more personal manner; she shall have to do all the introductions herself, and I admit I am excited about that prospect. I wonder how she conducts herself in person - she is most maddening in writing. I put up a valiant fight but I am flushed head to toe most of the time._

_I believe you shouldn’t worry for Sylvanas - at least worry not about heartbreak. I think she is doing quite fine on that front, but if that eases your mind, I promise to take care of her heart to the best of my ability._

  
  


_Wishing for your safe return,_

  
  


_Love,_

_Jaina_

  
  


Vereesa’s words cracked at the last few lines but she powered through the letter. Rhonin stared at her in confusion, trying his best to tie his unruly hair up that could really use a thorough combing and oiling. Their whole team looked the worse for wear, and Vereesa couldn’t wait to be rid of this entire soppy country, now that her elation over their successful mission had passed through her veins and all that remained was the leaden exhaustion.

“You don’t think,” Vereesa stuttered. “You don’t-”

“That Jaina-” Rhonin started then stopped.

“Yes.” Vereesa nodded along, almost used to their near-telepathic banter by now.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know her enough to tell.” Rhonin admitted, apparently having given up on his ponytail. “Wouldn’t that be nice, in a way? Your big sister and your best friend?”

Vereesa shrugged, helpless.

“You did want Jaina to get over you,” Rhonin pointed out and Vereesa shrugged again.

“I suppose,” she said. “I just thought… well, she protested that insinuation, but I still thought it would be Kael’thas, you know?”

Rhonin burst out laughing at that, his ponytail slipping out of his hair tie in its entirety. Vereesa thought he looked like a moderately handsome trogg now, unshaven and dirty and disheveled. 

“Kael’thas?” he asked. “Surely, you’re joking?”

“Well, he likes Jaina,” Vereesa mumbled. “And he invited her to Silvermoon. And, she accepted that invitation. And, and-”Vereesa scrambled for words-“he is all - long blonde hair and beautiful. That man is _beautiful_ , Rhonin.”

“Is that all that matters?” Rhonin asked and made a last, sad attempt to smooth down his hair.

“That’s not what I said,” Vereesa said. “But I know Jaina’s type.”

“Do you?” Rhonin shook his head, grinning. “Because that description also fits your sister.”

“Maybe so,” Vereesa said. “But they haven’t even met yet, so your theory stands on very shaky legs, _Redhair._ ”

Rhonin wiggled his eyebrows at her. Vereesa squinted at him. It wasn’t like Rhonin knew anything at all. _Right?_

~~~

Jaina would’ve loved to say that she had woken up to the first rays of sunshine or the delightful trills of the blackbird, but truthfully, she had been lying awake for most of the night. She had turned the pillow over at least a dozen times, chasing the cooler side to cool herself down but it was a futile endeavour. She was overfull of nerves, the pleasant and inspiring kind, and it all felt a little too silly, little too tangible, a little unfitting for a mage apprentice. 

She could rarely catch herself getting so excited about something that wasn’t the most obscure of theoretical magic. While she could’ve - should she want to - attribute all that thrill to her curiosity about Silvermoon, she was self-aware enough to know better. All those nerve endings pointed at Sylvanas Windrunner, screaming at her to one up her, to get the last of laughs. 

Still, she had restrained herself from replying to Sylvanas, even though she had so many words begging to be released. She had a whole bundle of them, phrases and sentences of varying audaciousness, but she didn’t want to waste them on ink and paper. She needed to see Sylvanas’ face when she uttered them and she only hoped it was as telling as her own. 

~~~

“I’m going to set up the portal to drop you off at the East Sanctum,” Modera explained to Jaina as they made their way over to Runeweaver Square. The air was stuffy, as if it carried all the humidity of a storm but no means of releasing it, and Modera looked her age more than usual, with perspiration pearling on her forehead and temples. “I can’t teleport you straight to Silvermoon.”

“The wards.” Jaina nodded. “I don’t presume we could circumvent them even if we wanted to.”

“Maybe Antonidas could, fifty years ago. They use very advanced arcane technology, you will just love it,” Modera said and Jaina had to smile at the enthusiasm in her voice. “If you are to take only one piece of advice from me, it should be this: catch yourself some young and earnest mage and pester them until they reveal you all their secrets. You shall only scratch the very surface but it should still be more valuable than a decade spent in the Grand Library.”

Jaina rolled her eyes in good spirits, and said, “Is that coming from personal experience?”

“Let’s just say, Jaina,” Modera said, “that I was once young and beautiful too, like yourself, and Kael’thas… Kael’thas has always been young and beautiful and very happy to let me pry.”

“Awful,” Jaina blurted out, already feeling her face snitching on her suffering with a blush. “You’re awful. You are all _quite_ awful and I don’t deserve this treatment so early in the morning.”

“I see a lot of myself in you-”

“Don’t,” Jaina warned. “You think yourself hilarious but you are anything but.”

“I am just saying,” Modera said innocently, “if you get a chance like that, you should take it.”

Jaina shuddered at that. 

“I abhor those implications,” she admitted as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Was it like this when Arthas courted me? Was it also everyone’s business?”

“Of course it was. People talk. Not that you noticed it back then,” Modera said. 

Jaina groaned and elected to ignore the questioning looks of the passers-by.

“People get bored of everything after a while,” Modera said and squeezed Jaina’s arm. “You either need to set your teeth or give them something else to talk about.”

“Great advice,” Jaina said. “I shall find a new and unique way to disgrace myself. Something even more preposterous to keep those tongues wagging.”

“Or,” Modera said as they stopped in the middle of the square, her gaze settling on Antonidas inspecting his luggage in the distance, already waiting for them, “you could let your work talk so loud that it drowns out the gossip. That’s what I did when I was your age and _my_ love life was the talk of the Violet Citadel.”

“Antonidas told you about the expedition?”

“He told me enough,” Modera said. “I know the details are muddy for now, but… Jaina, I didn’t get on the Council of Six because I sat around and devoured books until someone noticed me. If the profit you seek is knowledge, then as your elder and your unofficial mentor, I implore you to get a more hands-on approach.”

“You want me to go on more field missions,” Jaina concluded.

“Yes, you have to,” Modera said. “I shouldn’t tell you this yet but Antonidas wants this expedition to be your first step towards your induction.”

Jaina stopped abruptly. “Induction?”

“To the Dalaran Archmagi.” Modera smiled at her. “You have proven yourself capable of excellent research but your investigation skills are still a mystery to us. We need to see how you work together with others, how you solve problems under pressure.”

Jaina nodded weakly and then nodded some more, firmly this time, as if the quality of her nodding was suddenly an important aspect of her career progression. 

“You need to learn to risk, to gamble,” Modera told her, “and to fail.”

Jaina would have found that advice fair if the price of failure hadn’t been getting slaughtered by orcs in Kalimdor over the fancy of an elven prince.

~~~

Sylvanas unbuttoned the collar of her silk shirt and rubbed her neck. Summers in Quel’Thalas had a tendency to mix scorching heat with strong breeze, the kind that almost made one forget how hot it truly was, unless of course one was obligated to don their ceremonial armour - all gold and heavy leather and a woolen cape for good measure. The only way for Sylvanas to endure her current predicament was to force her rangers into their very own, identical ceremonial outfits. Their grumbling (most specifically, Nathanos’ loud discontent) was almost worth it.

She looked at the three carriages and six hawkstriders her rangers were preparing for the transportation of their guests to the Silvermoon city gates. She sighed.

“Anya, enlighten me,” Sylvanas drawled, “why do we need _three_ of these?”

“For the luggage, General,” Anya said earnestly, and did not elaborate.

“There’s two of them, they are going to stay one night,” Sylvanas said as Ranger Anya continued to saddle a hawkstrider that tolerated their presence with commendable calmness, “and they are _human_. I would be surprised if they brought more than a sack of clean smallclothes with them.”

Anya stopped tightening the strap she had in her hands and looked up at Sylvanas in abject horror.

“Surely they prepared some _gowns_?” Anya moaned. “We have been talking about Dalaran fashion for days now! Kalira will be devastated.”

“I am terribly sorry that your lives revolve around Dalaran fashion,” Sylvanas said, not without mirth. “If your minds and bodies aren’t engaged enough, just say so. I can find you all a new conversation topic you could entertain over a cozy campfire in troll country.”

“I am very happy with my duties, General,” Anya mumbled and Sylvanas couldn’t help the fondness she felt.

“They are on official Kirin Tor business,” Sylvanas explained because there was no harm in saying so. “I don’t expect them to bring more than one set of formal clothes. Take one carriage with two striders, and get Kalira, Velonara and Nathanos to provide security detail.”

“And Anya,” Sylvanas added after a beat. “Try not to _forget_ Nathanos this time.”

Anya made a face at that but only said, “As you wish, General.”

~~~

“And then Modera and Kael’thas turned Drenden into a wild hog! By mistake!” Antonidas laughed and laid back, resting his progressively balding crown on the headboard of his seat, sinking into the plush ruby velvet that covered the inside of their carriage. “He ran around the bazaar and knocked over so many stalls. He made himself a pigsty!”

“I’m sure he was the talk of the town,” Jaina said and awarded him with a distracted smile. 

Her eyes kept wandering away from Antonidas and towards the woods, her gaze running away with every tree they passed. Everything blended into a flash of emerald green, and Jaina’s mind barely registered anything besides the low and familiar drone of Antonidas’ voice, and the foreign smell of the wind hitting her in the face through the open windows of their carriage.

“...so you are welcome to look around in the library or get a drink at one of the many inns-”

“I’m sorry?” Jaina blinked and moved to face her master again.

“Jaina, my child, keep your wits about you,” Antonidas chided her. “I’ve just told you that I’d like to talk to Prince Kael’thas alone. I need to go over every piece of evidence he has collected because I can’t judge the validity of his claims otherwise.”

“And you don’t want me with you?” Jaina asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Why am I here then?”

“If - and that is an ‘if’, Jaina - I decide that Kael’thas’ venture is worth the Kirin Tor’s time and resources,” he explained, “and I decide that you are the best person to accompany him on said venture, then you shall learn all you need to learn. Tomorrow.”

Jaina nodded, dutifully, but she was well aware of the sour face she was making.

“You know it isn’t personal,” Antonidas said. “Besides, I don’t believe I could concentrate with Kael’thas puffing his feathers around you.”

“Not you too!”

~~~

Sylvanas saw her first.

Then she saw Antonidas too, and then she saw his naked, drunk form with her mind’s eye. That was unwelcome and she shivered at the memory. All of that repugnance evaporated then because it was Jaina Proudmoore again, _Jaina_ , and not even Kael’thas’ exaggerated laugh could keep her focus away from her. 

It was an odd realisation - Jaina Proudmoore very much existed, she was very much corporeal, and she was very much arresting, even from a good twenty yards away. That last part hit her the hardest. It was going to fall on the difficult side of things to tease this person if she felt ever-so-teasable herself. She promptly compartmentalised that thought process and stuffed each segment away to their respective dusty mental drawers.

Sylvanas handed over the reins of her hawkstrider to the stable boy as she watched their interaction unfold. Antonidas and Jaina passed their luggage (an overnight bag, each, as predicted) to Kael’thas’ assistants, and then the two men left, undoubtedly to discuss Kael’thas’ theories over rum-spiked honeymint tea and nostalgia. Only hope and prayer could save Sylvanas from another one of Antonidas’ drunk escapades.

Jaina was left with Nathanos who must have said something _hilarious_ , because Jaina laughed, an open and honest sound, and Sylvanas was suddenly in possession of a lump in her throat. There was an irksome notion now, that perhaps Anya had had the right idea to forget about Nathanos all those many times. She had to remind herself that Nathanos was a mostly useful member of the rangers, and a useful political trump card as well who could annoy any of Quel’Thalas’ main factions at the same time. Such toys came by rarely and she had to be smarter than to break him. 

She strode (definitely didn’t stomp or stalk) over to them, signalled to Nathanos with ranger sign language to keep his mouth shut before he could say a word, and bowed to Jaina, shallowly.

“Lady Proudmoore, welcome to Silvermoon,” she said. “Prince Kael’thas assigned me to be your guide. I’m Ranger Clea.”

Nathanos made a choking noise and covered it up with an obviously fake coughing fit. 

“Ranger Lord, I suggest you get some honey and ginger for that nasty cough. I would hate if it got worse,” Sylvanas added. “The Ranger-General thanks you for your service. Have a good day.”

“...and you too?” Nathanos said and moved his arm to salute Sylvanas but dropped it halfway through the motion, then he slapped his thighs to do something with his hands, visibly distressed. “I am leaving.”

Sylvanas watched him march away. She could see Jaina scrutinising her in her peripheral vision, her arms folded over her chest, the long sleeves of her purple Kirin Tor apprentice’s robes bunching up around her elbows.

“There must be a mistake, Ranger Clea,” Jaina said and Sylvanas closed her eyes. She wanted to commit that voice to her memory, as she had committed her letters to her memory. It was surprisingly low with a warm timbre, and Sylvanas had expected it to be more youthful, more tingling somehow. “Lady Proudmoore shall arrive later today. I’m but her ward…Lucille Waycrest.”

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. Jaina calling her bluff so easily was more than amusing.

“Waycrest? My lady, you must be the biggest twelve-year-old I have ever seen.”

“Not all of us are afforded the leisurely pace of an immortal existence, Ranger Clea,” Jaina said and gestured at all of Sylvanas. “For all I know, you could be forty or four thousand.”

“Two thousand seven hundred and thirty-two,” Sylvanas said.

“Oh, a toddler then. Well, in any case you’re certainly knowledgeable about Kul Tiran nobility”-Jaina’s eyes twinkled-“Is that something you just picked up in the last two thousand years? Or did the good Ranger-General give you a lot of homework?”

“She insists that we get very thorough about our intel,” Sylvanas said and offered her arm to Jaina. She took it without hesitation.

“And yet you confused me with my liege,” Jaina said and Sylvanas was sure she tightened her fingers around her forearm. She barely felt it through her armour, and yet her cheeks responded with a faint blush. “Don’t worry, _Clea_ , I shall not tell if you shan’t tell.”

“Your discretion is more than appreciated,” Sylvanas said. “Where may I take you?”

“Oh, I don’t even know,” Jaina said and hummed. “I hear you have an exquisite fountain somewhere. What are your local regulations about public indecency? This is an awfully hot day and I might like a dip.”

Sylvanas repressed a laugh and said, “Prohibited and punishable by shaming.”

“Even more than I would shame myself?” 

“So much more,” Sylvanas said and smiled, finally, “but I suppose I cannot stop you from coming back in the night.”

She started to lead Jaina towards the bazaar; the cacophony of the vendors, the shoppers, and the live wares increasing with every step. She caught a few pedestrians eyeing their pair with curiosity but if Jaina noticed their stares, she didn’t show it.

“Are you telling me that the city guard don’t patrol at night?” Jaina asked. “Because that sounds like a defence oversight and I am positive the Ranger-General would love to hear about it.”

“Why don’t you tell her,” Sylvanas said, “Jaina?”

“Finally!” Jaina groaned and then laughed. “I was wondering how long you would have me keep this up. The Kirin Tor is not an acting troupe, I’ll have you know.”

“I’ll have you know I noticed as much,” Sylvanas drawled.

Jaina slapped her shoulder with her free hand and said, “You’re one to talk, Ranger Clea. I thought Nathanos would suffer an apoplexy when you came over.”

“Already on a first name basis,” Sylvanas mused. “It took me how many letters?”

“Not enough, if you ask me,” Jaina told her.

“I was hoping your tongue would be as cutting as your words were,” Sylvanas said and stopped at the stand of her favourite bakery. 

“How do I hold up?” Jaina said and after a beat, specified, “Compared to your idea of me?”

Sylvanas surveyed the supply of bread, sweet bread, flat bread, breadsticks and Silvermoon-style pretzels. Smaller and crispier than the Dalaran ones.

“Do you need me to answer that?” she asked eventually, the ends of her ears blooming in pink.

“I don’t _need_ anything from you,” Jaina told her and Sylvanas thought she could see the first signs of that famous Jaina Proudmoore blush. “But I would like it anyway.”

Sylvanas huffed at that and bought a bag of pretzels for them.

“And _I_ ,” she started, “would like to show you the fountain and test your Thalassian. Then, you can decide how to shame yourself.”

Jaina grinned at her, a challenge in her eyes, and took her arm again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Jaina gets introspective and then finally gets to say "f*ck", Sylvanas is smitten and a nerd, random elven librarian is done with humans. Strangely enough no one else appears in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, I hope you'll enjoy this one :)  
> Note: italics in dialogue are in Thalassian in this chapter

Sylvanas’ armour was warm _._

Not the approximation of skin, but definitely warmer and more pleasant to the touch than the cutting cold of Kul Tiran steel or the ever-present dampness of the leather cuirasses Derek and Father had worn. They seemed to have brined them in salt every time they had taken to the sea, with no way to stay all above the waves - she could still feel the crunch of that salt underneath her fingernails.

Sylvanas was holding her arms in a perfect ninety-degree angle, her right one reserved for Jaina, her left one reserved for the paper bag of pretzels. Jaina curled her fingers into Sylvanas’ arm as they made their way through the open market of the bazaar district. 

The market was, well, an experience; she had expected the extravagance and the opulence, but not the utter chaos of hundreds of people crowding together to bid on some raptor eggs from Stranglethorn Vale, a ceremonial sword from the Arathi Empire that probably served more bedroom than battlefield purposes, or an “ancient” dwarven artefact from the Hinterlands that looked like a simple copper tube hammered out that very day. The latter would win the popularity contest judging by how fast the bidders were shouting out their prices.

By the look of the masses, Silvermoon fashion was all about clashing colours, clashing fabrics and exorbitant luxury. For whatever reason, creative applications of hawkstrider feathers to various body parts were also popular, leaving Jaina to think she was somehow in the middle of an extreme kaja’mite dance party for the fashion-forward, not that she would publicly admit to having a frame of reference. The intricacies of Kirin Tor’s inner workings were strictly need-to-know.

All of that gave her a moderate headache. Sylvanas, even if her own armour was anything but drab, stuck out like a sore thumb of soothing utility. Jaina caught herself resting her gaze on her more often than not. 

Sylvanas gave no indication that she noticed her staring. Jaina went to sort her thoughts out on that front - was she attracted to Sylvanas, specifically, or was she merely attracted to the general concept of sharing pretzels with someone, anyone who made a conscious attempt to get to know her most private self? She settled on a combination of both because the pretzels really did smell divine and her breakfast was a long forgotten venture by now. Her body ran out of fuel faster than a goblin racing pod and it was just as volatile.

Sylvanas was a striking woman, there was little to no point to denying it, or at least, Jaina was way past the point of effective denial. Perhaps Sylvanas wasn’t beautiful the way Vereesa was, who was all youthful energy and kindness personified, but Jaina was more than thankful for that distinction. 

She had recognised her immediately - how could she not? She had spent the last two years around Vereesa and their similarities were obvious, even if Sylvanas emulated all their shared traits with more sharpness, more poise and more practiced confidence. Even if Jaina had been terrible with faces, she still would’ve noticed the way Ranger Nathanos’ entire body had tensed up like the string on a bow when Sylvanas had addressed him. 

And yet, faced with truth undeniable, Jaina had trouble consolidating the different versions of this person she had in her mind - that she was the Ranger-General, a war veteran, Vereesa’s big sister, and the woman she had been writing more-than-audacious letters for almost a month now, all in the same package, right here, holding her arm out for her, wearing some oddly warm armour. That should have intimidated her but all she could think of was Modera telling her to get better at investigation, to get better at working with people, to get that field experience. Maybe Sylvanas was the exact opposite of a young and earnest mage but Modera had also advised her to take some risks. 

With a newfound feeling of less-than-tentative fondness permeating her very being, she knew she wanted to excavate Sylvanas’ most private self. Tit for tat. 

“Is that copper tube enchanted in any way? It sure is in demand.”

“Doubtful,” Sylvanas said as they stopped to listen to the auctioneer. “It isn’t about the rarity of the item. That is a _benefaction:_ an otherwise mundane item offered up for auction by one of our many charities.”

“Oh, I certainly know that one from my time at the Court of Lordaeron.” Jaina hummed. “Flaunting your money for a cause you don’t care for? Hypocrisy must be a universal experience for all of Azeroth’s nobility. Including Kul Tiras, of course.”

The auctioneer slammed his hammer. A woman wearing a spiky, tangerine ball gown was now the visibly elated owner of the copper tube, and it only cost her a single sack of gold.

“Can’t that poor woman throw her never-earned money at the Orphaned Dragonhawk Rescue Mission without being judged so cruelly?” Sylvanas moaned in mock-indignation and allowed Jaina to pull them away from the crowds. “Hypocrisy for a good cause is hypocrisy we, as a society, decided to condone. Maybe you should also respect our cultural traditions.”

“Oh, do consider me properly chastised, Ranger-General” Jaina was smug. “I agree that I am in no place to cast judgement, and thus I shall keep all my biased observations to myself at least until tomorrow. It is up to you to make a good impression until then.”

Sylvanas inclined her head and gave her a feather-light smile.

“Up to me?” she said. “And here I was hoping you would be the one to impress me with your no doubt extensive Thalassian knowledge.”

“That would be a bit of an uphill battle, I’m afraid,” Jaina said. “Well, if I must, I could interest you in a monologue I know by heart. It is from a book called _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_. You might have heard of it.”

She noted how Sylvanas’ smile had put on some noticeable weight. 

~~~

“As you see, the water is on the shallower end,” Sylvanas said when they reached the middle of the city square and the object of Jaina’s longing - the fountain. It was an intricate, circular design with a huge, full body marble statue depicting Dath’Remar Sunstrider in all his glory: heroic pose, vial of Sunwell in hand, flowy hair (a marble carving masterpiece, truly), and the vacant facial expression of a sculpting apprentice who had been forced to pose for a full body marble statue depicting Dath’Remar Sunstrider. The fountain had a wide marble seat around it that now provided crucial context to the courtship rituals that started every summer and lasted until the first winds of autumn (which was still very much like summer and the entire distinction was more cultural than anything else). Sylvanas ignored the couples loitering around the fountain, holding hands and engaging in some heated gazing, and unclasped her cape.

“Less than ideal for your dreams of indecent exposure,” Sylvanas added, she then laid out her cape on the marble and motioned for Jaina to have a seat.

“It just has to be a little more indecent than previously planned. I can be flexible,” Jaina said, taking Sylvanas’ offer with a smile and quick curtsy. “Your donation to the nation of Kul Tiras is noted and appreciated.”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes at Jaina quoting herself and sat down next to her, keeping a polite distance to adhere to the rules of etiquette.

For a minute or two, that could’ve been uncomfortable so easily but somehow skipped that awkwardness in its entirety, they sat there together in silence and took in the sounds the various pipes and jets made as they went through their nine o’clock orchestration. 

“So,” Jaina said eventually. “How do you propose I prove myself to you?”

“Compliment me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Small talk is the glue that binds this society together,” Sylvanas explained. “I may not be a devotee of it but you cannot exactly exclude yourself from it either. So, please, by all means.”

“You want me to compliment you?” Jaina was incredulous.

“In Thalassian, if you will,” Sylvanas said, then opened the bag and shook it a bit, holding it out for Jaina, who needed no prompting to take a pretzel. “That is how every conversation starts here. Either you mention the weather or you tell me how ravishing I look, even if you don’t think so. Especially, if you don’t think so.”

“In that case,” Jaina started, “ _the heat of the summer sun could never compare to-_ ”

“A clever composite”-Sylvanas broke a pretzel in two-“Now try it without quoting _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_.”

_“I like your...boot.”_

Sylvanas swallowed her bite and said, _“Just the one?”_

_“I like your boot...s?”_

_“Why, thank you. I’m sure I’d adore yours too, but alas, your robes are too long, and I can’t see a thing,”_ Sylvanas said in quick Thalassian and grinned at the confusion perching on Jaina’s face. _“You should take them off.”_

“You want me to take my boots off?” Jaina blurted.

Sylvanas laughed without restraint, and she only felt a little bad at Jaina’s annoyed look.

“Wrong object,” she said and decided that Jaina could use more roguish pestering, for Sylvanas still hadn’t seen that blotchy blush. “Is that the extent of your skills? I am confident you can do better than that.”

Jaina just replied with a loaded smile and took another pretzel from the bag.

“Don’t tell me Kael’thas hasn’t told you sweet nothings,” Sylvanas added and tried to shoo away that tiny flame of jealousy that flared in her. “With you, I’m sure he applied all his charms - few that he has. Just relay his favourite phrases and I shall pretend I’ve never heard them before.”

Jaina arched an eyebrow and said, “There was nothing sweet about it, and as such, I cannot repeat it in polite company.”

“I didn’t get the impression that you considered me polite company,” Sylvanas said and she knew, just knew, that her ears were red again, her mind wandering away to Jaina’s last letter. 

Jaina bit her lips and said after a pause, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Sylvanas was collecting her words of choice with the average speed of grazing cattle, and that was obvious to Jaina too, because she continued, “It doesn’t have to be an… occasion.”

“An occasion?” Sylvanas wanted to tease but she thought she only sounded properly dumb.

“Well,” Jaina said, “You’ve just spoken very highly of your superior cuisine and I could use a few recommendations but… I understand that you have a certain station and I seem to invite a lot of unwanted attention of the gossip kind, so-”

“I don’t care much for gossip,” Sylvanas cut her off in haste. “There are a lot of preconceptions about me,”-she sighed-“You would think that if you live as long as we do, you have all the more time to reinvent yourself or to change people’s mind but”-she gave Jaina the smallest shrug-“that is also an uphill battle. So I’ve learnt not to care.”

“It is that bad?”

Sylvanas grimaced and said, “When I was young I made a lot of-”

“Baskets?”

Sylvanas didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Mistakes. I was careless with my heart and now apparently I make all my rangers sleep with me for promotions because I am desperate.”

Jaina whistled at that. “A fine contender in this competition for pity.”

“As you can clearly see,” Jaina added, “I am currently in the third trimester with Arthas Menethil’s triplets.”

“Those are Arthas’?” Sylvanas grinned. “And here I was lead to believe you had Kael’thas’ progeny under your heart. We have these very misleading pamphlets.”

“Of me?” Jaina gasped. “Fantastic. I’m not sure my reputation could handle another blow. Having multiple men’s children at the same time is one thing but to be seen together with an infamous pervert like yourself might put my mother in an early grave.”

“Would you miss her?” Sylvanas screwed her eyes shut at her own phrasing, but Jaina laughed, uproariously. Sylvanas opened her eyes to see a few young lovers peeking at them with open distaste.

“Very much so, I would,” Jaina said. “However, in all of her rare letters, she complains about crippling boredom and that cannot be healthy either. Perhaps we should give her a good scandal to think about.”

“Very well,” Sylvanas said. “I know a place with excellent seafood. You should add insult to injury and tell your mother we cook our clams better than the Kul Tirans.”

“Do not overdo it, Sylvanas Windrunner,” Jaina said and Sylvanas realised that was the very first time she had said her name. She had an odd, runaway feeling that someone was tugging on the tether of her heart. “Just take me to the biggest library this city has to offer and and pick me up in ten hours.”

“As you wish, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas stood and offered Jaina her hand to help her up. 

She was more than relieved that her full ceremonial armour included a matching ceremonial gauntlet.

~~~

“Are you positive that I can borrow all these?” Jaina asked the librarian, a tired looking elven man wearing a pair of teashades, and dropped off another tower of books in front of him.

“ _Yes, I’m positive,_ ” he droned. _“Go ahead and sack this place for all I care. I’m not getting paid well enough to put up a fight. I might even help you.”_

Jaina only caught every second word of that but she was going to take any help, whatever he meant.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Jaina tried in Thalassian and the librarian just hummed and nodded at her. With a wave of his hands he made two quills write up all of Jaina’s books.

“I’d like to take these for my friend _._ ” Jaina pointed at the medical journals she had picked out for Modera. “How should I say it? _She spat on a paper dragon._ ”

“I hope that’s an idiom,” the librarian replied in Common and Jaina made a mental note to ask Sylvanas later. He put up his index finger, the universal sign for Jaina to wait, and came back with a very worn, very thick book. “Take this. I learnt all my Common from this one. This is now my fourth sentence spoken in this language and I don’t like it at all, so I won’t be needing this anymore. This is my first and last conversation, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Jaina had no idea how to feel about that so she just took the _Common Common: A Colloquial Collection_ from him. “Thank you for this too. I am honoured that you wasted all your words on me.”

“ _My assistant shall take these to your quarters,_ ” he said. “ _Safe travels, Lady Proudmoore._ ”

“ _And you too_.” 

Jaina quickly transformed her Kirin Tor robes into the cornflower blue formal dress she had in her overnight bag, and put her hair up in a bun. 

“Leave it down,” the librarian called after her.

Jaina took his advice with a determined nod.

~~~

  
  


“ _She… she spat on a paper dragon?_ ” Sylvanas stuttered. Jaina didn’t think she could do that. “Is that an idiom?”

“No,” Jaina said. “Why does everyone keep saying that? She wrote a paper on the medical applications of dragon spit.”

“Well, that’s not what you said.” Sylvanas tried to hide her smile with a polite cough but Jaina saw it.

“Tides, I don’t even want to know. I only hope it wasn’t too offensive.”

“You should ask an Aspect,” Sylvanas said and offered her arm to her. This time around, she wasn’t wearing her ceremonial armour, instead she donned a white dress shirt and fitted linen pants, that managed to be weather-appropriate and still retain a sense of quiet elegance.

Jaina hesitated only for a moment before she linked arms with her. Sylvanas was warmer than a furnace, and Jaina had to count down the seconds to each of her breath to calm down her heart.

“Oh, of course, why didn’t I think of that? Allow me to go and find myself someone from the blue dragonflight and ask them their opinion.”

Sylvanas flagged down one of the many hawkstrider-drawn carriages that were cruising on the bigger streets of Silvermoon looking for passengers, and once it stopped, she helped Jaina up.

“We are going up to the North Channel,” Sylvanas said as the carriage lurched into motion. “There’s a place called _Anchor’s Drift_ I frequent a lot when I want to blend in.”

“That sounds like a dive bar swimming in, well, sailors,” Jaina made a last minute save. If someone had come by to offer her a quick death, she would have taken that offer.

Sylvanas graciously ignored that and said, “Indeed. It is only the most infamous dive bar in all of Quel’Thalas and they happen to make the best beer steamed mussel dish in all of Azeroth.”

Jaina couldn’t help glancing at her dress - she felt embarrassingly overdressed.

“Wrong. My father makes the best beer steamed mussel in Azeroth,” Jaina said. “But I shan’t bring you over to test it as I’m not sure you’d survive that trip.”

“You don’t think your father would like me much?”

“I think he would like you fine,” Jaina said and she surprised herself with how true that rang. “He has always liked difficult people.”

“I was nothing but pleasant to you today,” Sylvanas said.

“Well, that wasn’t your first instinct, was it now,” Jaina pointed out. Their carriage crossed the bridge that connected the mainland with the Isle of Quel’Danas. “I practically had to force my correspondence onto you.”

“I believe,” Sylvanas said, tentatively, “I believe I might be all the better for it.”

Jaina collided with the sudden urge to reach out for her hand but stopped herself.

“I meant the Kul Tiran liquor,” she said instead. “As my personal guest, it would be customary for you to drink with my father. That is what you wouldn’t survive.”

“You shall find that I hold my liquor way better than my sister.”

~~~

Sylvanas did not, in fact, hold her liquor any better than Vereesa did. This was painfully obvious now, with her vision blurry, her limbs leaden, and her mind running at the speed of a garden slug.

“Just fold, Sylvanas,” Jaina tried to whisper in her ear but she must’ve had a basic misunderstanding of elven anatomy because she just kept talking into the very tip of it. She was also yelling, and not whispering, but with the general level of drunkenness in _Anchor’s Drift,_ hardly anyone noticed it. “Your hand is a fucking disgrace.”

Jaina then collapsed into a laughing mess, undoubtedly over that very unladylike word.

“All in,” Sylvanas proclaimed and proceeded to push everyone’s coins into the middle of the table.

“Ye touch my money again, I’ll shave all yer hair off, lass,” her new Wildhammer best friend said. She had forgotten his name an hour ago.

“It is a fold.” Jaina emerged from her seat. “Sylvanas-General folds.”

Sylvanas allowed herself to be pulled up by her elbows, first away from her chair and then away from the table, by a very strong and relentless Jaina. 

“It was a pleasure,” Sylvanas said and tried to salute her game partners but she narrowly missed her own temple and ended up slapping her ear. “Shorel.. a rum, my friends.”

“None of that no more for you, honey,” another dwarf said and pocketed Sylvanas’ leftover coins. 

~~~

“I think I have sand in my brain,” Jaina mumbled, lying on the shore of the North Sea outside of _Anchor’s Drift._ “In the ridges of my brain. So much sand. I’m but a desert-”

“Belore, just,” Sylvanas groaned next to her. She was pushing her palms into her temples as if she was going through a particularly painful migraine. “Please don’t say anything else about sand or I’m going to be sick.”

Sylvanas unclasped the small leather bag she had attached to her belt that held all of her emergency medicine she required as the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas - anti-venom, anti-poison, a salve to help with blood clotting on fresh cuts, and Camberon’s special brew he called the _Swift Sobriety_.

“Here, take this.” Sylvanas threw one of the vials to Jaina who didn’t even make an attempt to catch it. It landed in the sand with a thud. “Drink it, Jaina, I’m serious.”

“I like how you say my name,” Jaina told her. “Your enunce… enunciation is tragic.”

“Your Thalassian is tragic,” Sylvanas scoffed and popped the cork off her vial. She was forever grateful for Camberon for making that potion taste like water because anything else would’ve made her hurl.

“And that’s on you,” Jaina said and she must’ve found her _Swift Sobriety_ , because she managed to shut her mouth for ten consecutive seconds, a new record for drunk-Jaina, Sylvanas concluded. “Maybe if you had given me a dictionary instead of a romance novel, I would be further along in my studies.”

“You,” Sylvanas scrambled onto her knees. “You loved _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_ , don’t even try to deny it!”

“No,” Jaina mirrored her. “You loved _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_ and I thought it was tolerable.”

“ _Jaina Proudmoore, you are a dirty liar_ ,” Sylvanas said in Thalassian and started laughing in spite of herself. “I’m going to be so miserable tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Jaina said, “wasn’t this hangover cure?”

“No,” Sylvanas moaned. “Just something to sober up.”

“I’ll have to tolerate Kael’thas tomorrow with a hangover.”

“Did I not tell you,” Sylvanas said and stood up, her legs still shaky, “to decide how to shame yourself? I think you made an outstanding choice.”

She walked over to Jaina and held out her hand. Jaina looked at her for a moment, and then took it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:
> 
> Jaina and Sylvanas get serious, Kael'thas decides to become the ultimate wingman, Antonidas is dying, rumours fly, the Plot reappears with vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! I love reading every single note you leave me :)

Jaina had very slippery fingers and this was all her fault.

Or maybe, _Swift Sobriety_ just wasn’t swift enough, because Sylvanas’ knees buckled at a very crucial moment, wobbly like a baby deer’s, and instead of pulling Jaina up from the ground, she managed to collapse. That performance set both of them on a quickly declining vector towards the ground yet again.

“You really are”-Sylvanas coughed-“the biggest, heaviest twelve-year-old.”

Jaina was sprawled half on top of her and made no move to get off. She slapped Sylvanas’ shoulder. It was a very welcome distraction from her other, very real issues, namely Jaina being sprawled half on top of her and Sylvanas’ brain refusing to comprehend that in any satisfying way that didn’t make her want to set herself on fire.

“Or, perhaps,” Jaina said, annoyed, “You overestimated your upper body strength, I’m a perfectly normal weight, and you’re just weak.”

“It isn’t upper body strength,” Sylvanas said. “You lift with your knees, not your back.”

“Also, I’m twenty-two,” Jaina added, ignoring Sylvanas’ practical advice. “Not the same difference, I assure you.”

“And somehow I’m the toddler,” Sylvanas mumbled and shook her free hand to get some of her circulation back.

“Well, out of the two us, you’re the one with no coordination,” Jaina said and pushed herself up on her left elbow, effectively putting an end to their direct bodily contact, “and no alcohol tolerance.”

“I am an elf. _I’m a noble child_ ,” Sylvanas groaned and wished for another vial of _Swift Sobriety_ because the ale still in her stomach started to hit back with a vengeance, attacking her bloodstream, slurring up her words. “We are simply too advanced to drink your rotgut. Our livers reject your poison and your livers don’t even notice a thing until they have already shut down completely.”

“A single bottle,” Jaina said and poked Sylvanas’ collarbone with her index finger to drive a point home, and Sylvanas had to wonder if she too was drunk or just entirely, unfairly unaffected, whilst her own life was threatened by spontaneous combustion. “You had a single bottle of dwarven ale. You act like I fed you mandrake syrup.”

“That was the start of all my bad decisions,” Sylvanas said. 

“If that matters to you,” Jaina said, “I did enjoy your tragic decision making tonight.”

Sylvanas closed her eyes and smiled. She took a shaky breath.

“I am very glad,” she said and she wanted to finish that sentence in so many different ways but settled on a safe one, “that I didn’t throw up on you.”

Jaina laughed so hard that she toppled over, back down onto her back, her side still pressed to Sylvanas’.

“Ever the romantic,” she said. “I cannot fathom how you ended up with break-up basketry with a tongue so talented.”

“I cannot fathom it either,” Sylvanas whispered. “I am quite a catch.”

“I wish you could say that without being sarcastic,” Jaina said with a sigh and moved to get up.

“Why do you think I was sarcastic?” Sylvanas rolled over and stood up too, this time without any knee-wobbling.

Jaina lifted her hand and moved it precariously close to Sylvanas’ face, but instead of cupping it in her palms, she just made a half-circle in the air, as if to contour her with it.

“If you didn’t want me to know your tells,” she said, “you shouldn’t have lied to me the very first time we met.”

Sylvanas couldn’t decide what terrified her more: the suggestion that she was an open book or that she was oddly fine with that.

~~~

“Come, the Royal Alchemist lives here on the Isle,” Sylvanas said eventually and went to pick up everything that had fallen out of her pockets during their tussle in the sand. “He shall get us something for our inevitable hangover.”

“It must be nice,” Jaina said and ran her fingers through her hair to put it back in a near-civilised state, “to have Ranger-General privileges like that, dropping in at two o’clock in the morning because you’re scared of a little hangover, no one daring to say no to you...”

Sylvanas shook her head but smiled.

“It isn’t like that at all,” she said. “Camberon and I have known each other for”-she looked like she was counting down in her head-“about seven hundred years. That’s enough time to hate each other, love each other, begrudgingly tolerate each other, and most of all, to always have a vague feeling that you owe something but you can’t remember what.”

Jaina swept the sand off her dress and out of its folds, and contemplated that.

“Is that the great secret of the quel’dorei?” she said. “Infinite existence doesn’t pair with infinite brains to hold all those memories?”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re a minute away from calling us ‘scatterbrains’?”

Jaina just raised her eyebrows, prompting her to continue. Sylvanas huffed at that as she put the empty vials of _Swift Sobriety_ back in her potion pouch.

“Do you remember being a child?” she asked Jaina. “How back then every day felt like a year? How every year felt like a lifetime?”

“The bias of time perception.”

“Exactly,” Sylvanas said. “When you live for millennia, every new year of your life gets progressively less significant.”

“You must think me a child then,” Jaina said. The realisation was a gut-punch to her. 

“No!” Sylvanas was quick to correct her. “Not at all. If anything, I am envious how you can be so young and so aware of yourself at the same time.”

Sylvanas offered Jaina her elbow and, by now, it was a practiced manoeuvre to loop her arm over it. They started their slow track up the shore, watched over by the two moons and the sky speckled with stars so many that if someone had told Jaina it was but flour sifted onto a table, she might’ve believed it.

“Stories need an end, Jaina,” Sylvanas said quietly. “Otherwise there’s no progress.”

“A clear end doesn’t necessitate progress,” Jaina pointed out. “Just as much as an open one doesn’t forbid it.”

“I invite you to explain that to all my peers who live centuries without a single thought paid for self-improvement.”

“Your peers?” Jaina said. “Are trying to tell me you are not like other girls?”

Sylvanas scoffed and said, “You make it sound way worse than I would’ve if you only let me elaborate.”

Jaina stopped them when they reached a section of the shoreline dotted with round, wave-washed pebbles. She untangled herself from Sylvanas and went to look for a good stone for skipping.

“Please, be so kind and elaborate,” she said and then added, “Do you know how to skip?”

Sylvanas nodded and bent down to turn over a few pebbles.

“Ours was… _is_ a nontraditional family,” Sylvanas told her. “My parents had four children together, which is four more than normal.”

“I have heard you aren’t the most…productive people.”

“No, we aren’t,” Sylvanas said and hurled her choice of pebble straight into an arching wave. It sank. “Which ties back into our whole topic. Most of us never truly grow up, not like my parents did. It isn’t exactly a state of adolescence we get stuck in, more like-”

“Young adulthood?” Jaina guessed and made her stone skip seven times over the sea.

“I think that’s apt,” Sylvanas said. “We are inclined to be hedonistic and carefree, and we are rarely forced to be anything else.”

Jaina thought about Lirath and thought about Alleria too, recalling the grief-stricken face of Vereesa when she opened up about their fate. 

“And you had a different model at home,” Jaina finished for her.

“Indeed,” Sylvanas said and threw another stone, this time it bounced off the water thrice. “Should you have had any questions about my foray into basketry, I hope that answered them.”

Jaina had the impulse to share something deeply personal with her too; it must’ve been the ale still in her system or the pull of the sea that always made her feel more present, more real.

“My parents had an arranged marriage,” she said, “and they had grown to like each other. I thought for the longest time that a suitable match like theirs would be my only hope for romantic fulfillment.”

Sylvanas turned away from the sea and towards her, and said, “And now?”

“And now I’m a Kirin Tor mage, effectively removed from the line of succession. Lucky me,” Jaina said. “I believe their last hope for a good marriage died when Arthas moved to greener pastures.”

“He might still change his mind, now that he is to be a father,” Sylvanas said with an easy grin, and motioned for them to continue their trip.

“My triplets shall know no father,” Jaina said. It was almost odd not hanging off of Sylvanas’ arm this time. “I think my interest in men is temporarily deferred.”

“Mine has been postponed indefinitely,” Sylvanas said, “since I was born. I believe it might’ve been cancelled altogether.”

Jaina laughed then said, “What a roundabout way of saying that you are fond of women.”

“It is only fair I made that clear,” Sylvanas said. “I did have the advantage of learning that bit about you from Vereesa’s rather embarrassing visit.”

“You do know that I’m not in love with your sister,” Jaina said, more a statement than a question.

“I know,” Sylvanas said and put her hands in the pockets of her pants, and then she broke farther away from Jaina to kick a stone towards the sea. “Belore be blessed.”

Jaina wanted to make a joke about being a woman of superior taste but she stopped herself. The moonlight threw odd shadows on Sylvanas’ face and she would rather have not mistake a grimace for a smile.

~~~

Jaina entered Kael’thas’ office without a knock, light as a fleecy cloud ready to be swept up by a summer breeze, Camberon’s anti-hangover potion running through her. 

Kael’thas and Antonidas looked the very opposite of cloud-light. Kael’thas was upside-down, dangling his legs off the backrest of his couch and his head off the seat, squinting up at Jaina in distaste like she was the harbinger of doom. Antonidas was kneeling in front of the coffee table, his head resting on his folded arms. He was fast asleep.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Jaina said and threw her notepads and scrolls on the coffee table. Antonidas harrumphed but kept on snoring. “ _You look like a used teabag left out to dry._ ”

“Ahhh, Jaina, my love,” Kael’thas said, his voice hoarse. “Your Thalassian…is most exquisite. As are you. If only you weren’t yelling.”

“I truly am not.” Jaina sat down next to Kael’thas, who still didn’t make an attempt to right himself. “A rough night of academic debate, I take it?”

“There is a certain rum-to-tea ratio that one should aim for,” Kael’thas said. “Alas, my aim was off.”

“There are potions for that,” Jaina told him and nudged Antonidas with one of her scrolls. He did not budge.

Kael’thas huffed, visibly annoyed.

“Yes, indeed, there are. Except _somebody_ broke into my Royal Alchemist’s house in the middle of the night to wrangle the last two vials out of his hands. It was a brutal attack and he is traumatised now.”

“That never happened.”

“And how would you know that?” Kael’thas eyed her slyly. “From what I heard it was our good Ranger-General and some courtesan, hanging off of her. Naked.”

“My Prince, you’re much above gossip,” Jaina said with a grin. “Also, it is Lady Courtesan to you.”

“No!” Kael’thas scrambled to get himself in an upright position. He smoothed down his mane of hair and said, “You did not!”

“Very much so, I did.”

“With the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas!”

“No. With Sylvanas Windrunner,” Jaina said. “My friend.”

“I told Sylvanas to get a ranger to _shadow_ you,” he said. “Yet, here she goes -against my direct orders- and takes the woman I love to sweep her off her feet! Because she _can_!”

“You had a direct order against taking me to a dive bar?”

“A dive bar, of all places! Oh, of course, she has no style.”

“Can we please stop acting like I cheated on you because I had a few drinks with a group of sailors,” Jaina groaned. “I have told you, numerous times, that my interest in you is purely academical.”

“I thought you liked to play hard to get!”

“Here’s a distinction for you,” Jaina spat and for a brief second she wondered how Antonidas managed to sleep through all this. “I don’t play hard to get. I’m _impossible_ to get. I shan’t say I’m in love but my desires lie elsewhere and I shall not deny myself a chance to explore that just to save your fragile self-esteem.”

“Well, you should’ve just said that!” Kael’thas jumped up to loom over her so Jaina mirrored him just as quickly. “I am the greatest supporter of love this continent has known.”

“That’s not what… You know what? If that’s what you need to hear to leave me alone,” Jaina said and put her hands on her waist, “then I suppose I am deeply, terrifyingly, soul-crushingly in love with _Sylvanas Windrunner._ ”

The lie came easily, a little too easily, and with it came a lot of feelings that Jaina shooed away immediately.

“Sylvanas!” Kael’thas yelled, and it sounded strangely triumphant. “But of course, how could I even think a lady like yourself would start a naked dalliance so scandalous without the ultimate motive of our life to guide her on: true love.”

“I wasn’t naked whatsoever,” Jaina tried but trailed off. Maybe it was better to let him believe whatever he wanted to believe.

“Sylvanas,” Kael’thas repeated. “She is a dear friend. I can always count on her to tell me the truth, the absolute truth, even if she knows it would pain me. And yet, she hid your relationship for me.”

“Probably because we don’t have one,” Jaina interjected. “On that note, I would appreciate if you didn’t mention this to her.”

“Jaina, my love.” Kael’thas moved to take her hand and she let him mostly because she truly wanted this conversation to be over and indulging him looked like a good strategy. “I understand your trepidation but there’s no need for that. We are a much more advanced society than yours. We do not shun _extraordinary_ relationship, unlike the less civilised parts of Azeroth.”

“That’s...Thank you?”

“In fact, I myself had numerous male lovers,” Kael’thas continued, “and lovers who didn’t consider themselves man or woman.”

“Yes, well, thank you for sharing. Can we get Antonidas a healer and then talk about our expedition? The reason why we are here?”

“I have a friend, Liadrin, - you would love her, by the way, frenetic lady- who once was married to two women at the same time.”

“I would be most content with just the one.”

“Yes, yes, just follow your heart. Or your body? Whichever is more involved.”

“I would not continue that if I were you,” Jaina said. “Unless you wish for me to involve my palm with your face.”

Kael’thas ignored her and said, “Don’t be afraid to pursue Sylvanas. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could get strangely obsessed with knitting,” Jaina said.

“Are you two done yet?” Antonidas’ grunt came from below. “My head is about to split like a watermelon.”

~~~

Sylvanas focused on her breathing.

She filled her lungs with air and then exhaled half of it, counting down the seconds.

She loosened her fingers - the arrow landed in the perfect centre of her target.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked then, turning to Jaina.

“A few minutes,” Jaina said. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“My accuracy rating thanks you,” Sylvanas said with an easy smile and put her bow down. “I take it you survived your meeting? No lasting effects of our night?”

“Not the hangover kind, no,” Jaina said. “We do have a new rumour on our hand, however.”

Sylvanas laughed and motioned with her hand for Jaina to continue.

“Apparently,” Jaina said, “you burglarised Camberon’s house to forcibly separate him from his hangover medicine.”

“Sounds like an average Tuesday to me,” Sylvanas said and shrugged. “At least your reputation is safe this time.”

“Oh no, I was also there as your unnamed courtesan companion,” Jaina clarified.

“Not even a named courtesan?” Sylvanas gasped, feigning indignation. “I am offended how little effort Camberon put into his story. I should tell him to credit you better.”

“I think I prefer anonymity.” Jaina smiled back at her. “At least this way my mother shall not have to deal with the news of my recent career change.” 

“But I am not here about any of that,” Jaina added after a beat.

“Still an admirable attempt at small talk.”

“Thank you kindly”-Jaina curtsied-“Have you had lunch? I bought some flatbread and a jar of chickpea spread in the bazaar. I thought we could sit somewhere and talk.”

Sylvanas felt heat rising in her cheeks and advancing towards her jawline. 

“I would like that,” she said and pointed to the trees in the distance, a hundred yards from the rangers’ shooting range. “There’s a bench under the old willow tree over there.”

They made their way along the small track that snaked through the knee-high grass, keeping a polite distance from each other, which was only the sane thing to do, because less-than-polite distances so far had lead to public intoxication and sand in unholy places.

“Kael’thas told me that you’re his confidante,” Jaina said when they reached the small bench underneath the billowing branches of the willow. “In most things, but especially about his research.”

“Unwillingly, I promise you,” Sylvanas said and sat down next to Jaina. She broke off a piece of flatbread to dip it in the spread. “But that would be correct. You needn’t worry yourself about spilling his secrets to me. I am uncomfortably acquainted with them all.”

“Good,” Jaina said and she seemed to hesitate. “Would you tell me about the reason behind the ranger outpost in Dalaran? The real reason. Not the horseshit one they tell us.”

“Why didn’t you ask Kael’thas?”

“Because I didn’t have another five hours to spare and he told me that you’re in charge.”

Sylvanas swallowed her bite and nodded.

“I presume you already know about our addiction to the Sunwell?” Sylvanas asked her and waited for Jaina to nod. “The outpost is a scientific experiment I came up with to occupy Kael’thas’ gigantic mind. Two years ago we sent a group of rangers to the Hinterlands to help our Wildhammer allies and we sent another group to Dalaran, at the same time. Can you guess why?”

“Dalaran is dripping with arcane magic,” Jaina said with a sigh. “Whatever the dwarves have set up, surely isn’t.”

“Spot on,” Sylvanas said and put some more chickpea on her piece of flatbread. “We needed to know if we can sustain ourselves with alternative sources of arcane energy.”

“And Vereesa volunteered,” Jaina said.

“Yes,” Sylvanas said. “And I let her.”

Sylvanas didn’t miss Jaina’s hand shaking as she said, “Even if it might hurt her? Or make her entirely demented?”

“Yes? How do you propose I tell a thousand-year-old woman they can’t do whatever they want to do?”

“I am worried about her.”

“That just makes two of us,” Sylvanas said and put her food down, her hunger left her. “I am _constantly_ worried about her but I can’t cut her wings. She would never talk to me again.”

“I think...” Jaina paused then said, “No. I _know_ I need to help her.”

“She’s not as affected,” Sylvanas told her, wanting to calm her but knowing full well her voice only came out as uncaring. Condescending. “Not like Kael’thas and not even like me. It comes on with age, much like bad joints or cataracts for humans.”

“This is not right,” Jaina whispered.

“Why do you think her first mission is with a mage?” Sylvanas asked, trying to sound a little kinder. “We are trying our best to keep her close to arcane energy at all times.”

Jaina rolled her eyes at her. It was neither charming nor cute - just pure, unadulterated annoyance.

“Fantastic”-Jaina was red in the face now, her blush blotchy and Sylvanas thought that was not how she wanted to see that-“What if anything happens to the Sunwell? What then?”

“I suppose,” Sylvanas ground out, “we are just going to _die_ , Jaina.”

“Oh Tides.” Without any warning, Jaina buried her face in her palms, spreading her fingers over her red skin. She was barely muttering the words but Sylvanas ears could pick it all up. “Tides, this is-”

“Do you need a minute?” Sylvanas reached out to pat her shoulder. “You are welcome to ride out the meltdown, I don’t have any urgent meetings on my agenda.”

“I am terrified.” Jaina’s voice came from between the gaps of her fingers. “Everything Kael’thas said about this… affliction. I am terrified for you.”

“That’s a bit overdramatic,” Sylvanas drawled. “We are conducting these experiments with the exact purpose to avoid any surprises.”

“Any surprises?” Jaina looked flabbergasted. “What about war? What about the Amani? What if they learn of this and, and-”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said gently. “I know where you’re coming from and I appreciate it, but this is my job.”

“Right. You’re quite correct,” Jaina said and clenched her jaw. “And as of today, it is my job to research your condition as the Kirin Tor’s special agent.”

Sylvanas huffed out a mirthless laugh.

“Congratulations.”

“We are going to assemble a team,” Jaina told her, “and we shall sail to Northern Kalimdor in a few weeks. I am hoping you shall provide the security detail.”

Sylvanas no longer wanted to laugh. 

“Of course,” she said. “Anything you need.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Sylvanas gets a migraine, Jaina gets an invitation into Sylvanas' bed, Vereesa gets a glorious comeback to teach us about consumer theory, Kael'thas gets abandonment issues, Modera gets to do cool nerdy things, the Plot gets a lot of screentime, and Antonidas gets an unshakable feeling of being too old for all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for all the kudos, the comments, and the fan art! You made some amazing fan art and I'm so so happy!

“I think three hundred soldiers, give or take, would be plenty to guarantee our safety,” Kael’thas announced.

“Plenty? A plethora of soldiers, more like,” Sylvanas groaned and massaged her forehead with her palm. “I am not going to move in with an entire battalion. It would look like an invading force.”

“I agree with Sylvanas,” Jaina said and squeezed her shoulder, briefly. Sylvanas didn’t miss the look Kael’thas gave her. “As I see it, we don’t have reliable reports on Northern Kalimdor. Therefore, maybe we should keep to our original goals: reconnaissance and diplomacy.”

“What about Horde activity?” Antonidas said and gestured to the map of Kalimdor spread out on Kael’thas’ coffee table. It had been pieced together by the cartographers of Kul Tiras and the Steamwheedle Cartel. “Surely we have to account for that.”

“That’s why I’m offering fifteen soldiers and three of my best rangers. You add your experts from the Kirin Tor and that way we can keep this under twenty-five people,” Sylvanas said. “Relatively innocuous but enough to defend against a minor hostile patrol.”

“What if we meet bigger resistance?” Kael’thas sighed, his enthusiasm dropping.

“I do not know,” Sylvanas admitted. “That’s the main reason why I still uphold my opinion that you, as heir of Quel’Thalas, should stay on your royal derrière.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about me,” Kael’thas said, “if you just came with us. I could never feel safer than with you by my side.”

“As touching that is, I must remind you of the law, Your Majesty,” Sylvanas said. “The three most important people in the kingdom-”

“Are the reigning monarch, the heir, and the leader of the army,” Kael’thas drawled. “I know. I wrote that.”

“Then you know it best that if I cannot stop you from going,” Sylvanas said, “then the only worse thing I could do is to follow you and leave our army headless. If I did that, I would have to prosecute myself on grounds of treason.”

“You should really consider separating and balancing the powers a bit more in the future,” Jaina told them. “A little democratic shift almost never hurt anyone. Expect for the ruling power.”

“I _am_ the ruling power,” Kael’thas said. “But thank you, we will make sure to give democracy a thought sometimes”-he grabbed her hand fondly-“Ah, Jaina, my love. You truly have the fanciest ideas!”

“If you’re quite done with that,” Sylvanas said and moved to physically separate the powers that Kael’thas and Jaina were, “we should agree on sailing routes.”

“We need about a week to reach Northrend. We can restock there,” Kael’thas said and massaged his fingers, shooting Sylvanas an admonishing look. Sylvanas shrugged.

“With all due respect, that is a ludicrous suggestion,” Jaina said. “Unless you plan to restock with lichen and moss, head south-west to Kul Tiras. It shall take us less than a week and I can guarantee lodging for days if needed.”

“Oh, look at that, Sylvanas,” Kael’thas said with a grin. “Perhaps it is for the best that you stay behind. I have heard that the Lady Katherine loves to sink her claws into potential suitors. You better save yourself!”

“Could we please stay on topic?” Jaina moaned.

“What are we talking about?” Antonidas said at the same time.

“Well, then,” Sylvanas said, “Shouldn’t _you_ be the one worried for your hide?”

“Oh, no, no!” Kael’thas waved. “I have officially retired my proposal. I was almost ready to make our Lady Jaina the next Queen of Quel’Thalas”-Sylvanas bit down on her tongue at that-“but alas! I shall never stand between true love.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Jaina rushed out. “I’m _begging_ you to stick to the topic of our meeting. I can’t believe I have to moderate this thing.”

“We don’t cover this in Kirin Tor basic training, do we?” Antonidas said jovially. “Maybe we should. Remind me to ask Modera about it.”

“I sincerely apologise, my dear friends,” Kael’thas said eventually, and then placed his index finger over to the peninsula jutting out from the eastern shore of Northern Kalimdor. “From now on, I shall turn all my attention to the ruins of Queen Azshara’s great empire.”

~~~

Sylvanas’ head was a closed system with rapidly rising entropy. She hoped it would explode, leaving her to contemplate her life with all its mistakes, from the comfort of the spirit realm, finally rid of Antonidas’ constant droning about defence wards.

“I believe Rhonin or Modera would be most helpful,” Antonidas said. “They both have a lot of field experience.”

“Do not tell me you’re not coming!” Kael’thas’ voice was more than pathetic. “First Sylvanas and now you! Who am I to lean on in the darkest nights of my soul?”

“I am at the end of my years, Kael’thas”-Antonidas sighed-“and all I want is a complete exclusion from your dramatics. These two days were quite enough. I am still nursing a hangover and this old body can only take so much.”

“Now that it’s settled,” Sylvanas said, in total disregard of Kael’thas’ meltdown. “Tomorrow, I shall relay the details to my rangers. Anya and Nathanos are both reconnaissance experts, so I’m assigning them to your team. I assume you don’t have any issues with them?”

Everyone shook their heads. After a beat, Sylvanas added, “Antonidas, has Vereesa arrived in Dalaran yet?”

“Yes, early in the morning,” he said. “She is unharmed and upbeat as ever.”

Sylvanas nodded, and felt the threat of a smile on her otherwise unaffected face. 

“Excellent,” she said. “Do you think you can get her here by tomorrow?”

“Archmage Modera is out by Lordamere Lake excavating shellfish fossils. It’s a tremendous find,” Antonidas explained as if it was crucial information that caused everyone a great deal of delight. “She should be back in Dalaran later in the evening, I am sure she’ll be more than happy to help.”

“Thank you.” Sylvanas said and she packed up her notes. “If that’s all, I’ll take a carriage to Windrunner Spire.”

“Very well,” Kael’thas said and opened the door that lead to his balcony, then took a small box of tobacco out of the pocket of his robe. “Anyone fancy a smoke? I had this imported straight from Stratholme.”

Antonidas advanced on him with all the swiftness he possessed, which left only Jaina and Sylvanas in the study.

“How did you find your bed last night?” Sylvanas asked as she folded the map of Kalimdor into her pocket.

“That’s a strange ice breaker,” Jaina said and raised an eyebrow in question. “My bed was only adequate but I could’ve fallen asleep on a bed of rocks.”

“Do you want to try mine tonight?”

Sylvanas greeted the blotchy blush on Jaina’s face with triumph.

“I’m sure you’d like to see Vereesa,” Sylvanas said. “I shall graciously offer up my room if you choose to visit our ancestral home. I hope you’d find it a bit more homey than a suite at a tavern.”

~~~

“It’s so good to see you!” Vereesa hung off of Sylvanas like an overgrown sack of potatoes, her arms encircling her neck so strongly that she was afraid she would dislocate a disk or two. “I missed you so much, Lady Moon.”

“It hasn’t even been a month,” Sylvanas said and patted Vereesa’s hair that looked like she had just walked through a minor whirlwind. “Still not a fan of portal-hopping?”

Vereesa groaned and moved a lock of her hair out of her face. “I don’t think I’ll ever be, but I have to commend Modera. She really is getting better at placing them.”

“Not portaling you into the sea is not exactly a bar set high,” Sylvanas said, then took Vereesa’s luggage from her and threw it over her shoulder. 

“Someone’s in a mood,” Vereesa tutted and Sylvanas rolled her eyes.

“My day left something to be desired,” Sylvanas told her and opened the front door to the Spire by placing her palm onto the runestone above the handle. The rune flared to life with a blue glow and the door opened with a sigh.

It was true of course; her day started well enough, bidding goodbye to a still somewhat flushed, but no longer tipsy Jaina, and coming out on top of that experience with her dignity mostly intact. Jaina had been gorgeous and whip-smart and testy, and Sylvanas had most certainly wanted to shut her up then and there, at three o’clock in the morning, by the door to Jaina’s suite. Yet, she had refrained herself. After that too-short moment of victory, her day had taken a swift turn towards the agonising, when she’d had to sit through long hours of reconnaissance strategy discussions with Jaina, Antonidas and Kael’thas - three people who clearly had little to no idea about reconnaissance and no qualms about expressing themselves anyway. She could’ve done without that.

After that significant dip in her enjoyment of the day, Vereesa was a delightful upturn. 

“Oh, is it about that very hush hush thing that was so important you wouldn’t even let me unpack?” Vereesa took two steps into the room before colliding with the fast moving object called Jaina Proudmoore.

“I shall drop this off in your room,” Sylvanas said with a smile and dangled Vereesa’s bag in the air. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

~~~

“I am sorry,” Jaina rushed out the words. “I didn’t mean to monopolise your sister time.”

“It is fine,” Vereesa said, still hugging Jaina, “she probably needs some time for herself to cry over how much she secretly missed me.”

“Be nice,” Jaina told her and detangled herself.

Vereesa couldn’t stop herself from squinting at Jaina in as sly a manner as she could manage.

“Really now,” she drawled not unlike Sylvanas would, “Did you two form a defence pact while I was gone? Should I be worried?”

“No,” Jaina said, “but if you hear certain rumours about yours truly, just know that I was on my best behaviour, and they are all filthy lies.”

“Now I truly must know what you two got up to in my absence,” Vereesa said and threw herself over the throw pillows of Sylvanas’ couch. “When did you ride out here?”

Jaina sat down too, her back to Vereesa’s side. She squeezed Vereesa’s hand dangling off the couch.

“We arrived half an hour ago,” Jaina said. “Plenty of time for me to wonder why your sister wouldn’t show me your room.”

“She tries to preserve my reputation.” Vereesa laughed. “I have a bunch of rather embarrassing leftover stuff from my childhood that she’s never thrown out.”

“I am going to the village to get some food,” Sylvanas announced as she walked down the spiral staircase. Vereesa didn’t miss the minute clenching of her sister’s jaw. “Any requests?”

“Yes, please,” Vereesa jumped on that question. Jaina just shook her head. “Could you get me some highland pomegranates and a bottle of mead?”

“Of course. Have fun.” Sylvanas gave Vereesa a loaded look and then left for Windrunner Village. 

“Was this code for something?” Jaina asked and turned her face towards Vereesa.

“Yes, in a way,” she said. “She knows I wanted her out of here for a bit and she is ever the pillar of politeness.”

“Oh,” Jaina snorted at that. “She is definitely that.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Vereesa started, “but I’m surprised to find you here. Sylvanas rarely invites anyone over. I think she prefers her Silvermoon suite for her affairs”-Vereesa’s eyes widened-“Not that I’m saying that it’s only a-”

“I’m here for _you_ ,” Jaina said. “Your sister was very kind with her offer.”

“Come on.” Vereesa tugged on Jaina’s fingers still entangled with hers. “What’s going on? There’s a lot of weird energy about here.”

Jaina dropped Vereesa’s hand and smiled. “I don’t actually know that myself and I don’t mind not knowing.”

“Complicated, all right, I get that.” Vereesa said and exhaled with an elongated whistle. “I suppose I’ll just have to ask, so please don’t punch me - are you sleeping together? Because Rhonin thinks you are but-”

“I’m not sleeping with your sister! Did you think I was sleeping with your-”

“No! I said Rhonin thinks that-”

“Why is Rhonin Redhair in this conversation at all?” Jaina raised her voice and Vereesa felt tiny all the sudden.

“Because he was the closest thing to a friend,” Vereesa said and she detested how her voice trembled, “and I needed to talk to someone.”

“About me?” 

“Yes! About you!” Vereesa tried to calm herself by counting down her breaths. “My best friend in the world who has _feelings_ for me. Or did you think I was just immediately over it?”-she snapped her fingers-“Like that? I needed some time to process it too so that I can be a good friend to you.”

“You’re a great friend, Vereesa,” Jaina said. “You don’t have to examine your actions because I had a crush on you. That one’s on me.”

“Right,” Vereesa said. “But I had to examine why I couldn’t return your feelings and I’m not talking about your very obvious _femininity_. That’s not an euphemism, by the way. You are beautiful.”

Jaina closed her eyes and took Vereesa’s hand again and pulled it in her lap. She ran her fingers over the life lines on her palm.

“Did Rhonin help with all that?”

“Somewhat,” Vereesa whispered. “Just a heads up: we, Windrunner women, have all the same issues with our self-worth and you have our dear mother to thank for that.”

“I am still not sleeping with your sister.”

Vereesa let out an airy, relieved laugh. “But you want to.”

“We are so not talking about this, Vereesa.” Jaina laid back to hug Vereesa. “I am so sorry I didn’t consider your feelings. I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too,” Vereesa murmured into her shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be.”

“I’m not.” Jaina kissed the side of her face. “I am very happy you’re my friend.”

“All right,” Vereesa mumbled and pushed Jaina up. “Get off me before Sylvanas returns and gets ideas.”

“She shall be fine,” Jaina said, but they both migrated into a more respectable sitting position. “I think I’ve given her plenty other ideas.”

Vereesa opened her mouth but Jaina shushed her with a finger. “You go first.”

~~~

“It was absolute madness!”-Sylvanas heard Vereesa’s voice even through the front door as she shouldered her way inside the Spire-“Dragons! And the legends are true, too - they can take a mortal form. I was both scared to near death and just…fascinated. Very fascinated.”

“I get it,” Jaina said. “You are now solely attracted to dragons. We’ve never had a chance.”

“Little Moon,” Sylvanas called, “incoming!”

She threw the bottle of mead at Vereesa who caught it with ease, and then popped off the cork with her thumb.

“Jaina, strangely enough, our tavern decided to offer Kul Tiran ale,” Sylvanas said. “Maybe it is suddenly in fashion.”

She didn’t miss how Jaina closed her eyes for a moment and smiled at her. “You have had to order it weeks ago.”

Sylvanas just inclined her head a bit, to which Jaina replied with a mouthed “thank you”.

“Weird energy,” Vereesa whispered.

Sylvanas ignored her and said, “I couldn’t find any pomegranates so I got you some sunfruit instead.”

“You know that I hate it,” Vereesa whined. “That’s not a perfect substitute. Not even an imperfect one.”

“In that case,” Sylvanas put the basket of fruit on the table in front of the couch. “Jaina, I got you some sunfruit.”

“Thank you.” Jaina grinned at her. “I’m sure its acidity goes sublimely with the richness of the ale.”

“Oh, Belore, I might be sick,” Vereesa croaked out.

Vereesa did not, in fact, end up sick that night. They proceeded to spend the evening eating all the cheese, the pickled and fresh vegetables and the selection of bread Sylvanas brought from Windrunner Village, and listening to Vereesa’s oversimplified and conspicuously happy-go-lucky account of how they had saved the dragon aspect Alexstrasza from a clan of orcish cultists without near-perishing at least fifteen times. Sylvanas had never been less convinced about anything in her life.

“What role does the Dragon Queen see for herself now?” Jaina asked and dipped her flatbread in the olive oil.

“You know what? I should ask her,” Vereesa said. “Let me just write her a heartfelt letter full of innuendos. We might strike up a vaguely erotic friendship and then she will entrust me with all her plans.”

“I am taking your mead,” Sylvanas said and made good on her promise.

“I’m just teasing.” Vereesa rolled her eyes. “Remind yourself that you love me.”

“I already remind myself of that all the time to cope with you,” Sylvanas said and then grabbed a sunfruit to cut it up in slices. “It is getting late. We should get you up to speed because tomorrow morning you are to join Velonara at the training ground at eight, and I’d prefer you sharp and well-rested.”

Sylvanas nodded at Jaina to take over.

“Sylvanas has told me about the Dalaran experiment, Vereesa,” Jaina supplied and Vereesa sat up straighter. “The reason why we are here now ties into that. Kael’thas found a possible connection to Naaru artefacts that could solve your arcane addiction issues. For good.”

Sylvanas nodded at her, and added, “Antonidas thinks his evidence checks out. Therefore, either they are both out of their mind or we have something promising.”

Jaina took a slice of sunfruit, and also the proverbial relay baton from her, and said, “These artefacts, whatever they may be, are apparently guarded by a group of water elementals who call themselves the Hydraxian Waterlords.”

“Very fancy,” Vereesa quipped.

“Yes, well, we’ll see how fancy they are,” Jaina said, “or how cooperative they are. We can connect them to the Lord of the Tides, which is where I come in. Hopefully those few years on Kul Tiran soil didn’t all go to waste and I still have what it takes to manoeuvre aquatic diplomacy.”

Jaina drank from her ale, and then added, “It should be noted that I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“We are going to Kul Tiras?”

“Only to restock,” Jaina told her. “We are going to the ruins of the Kaldorei Empire. In Kalimdor.”

“You’re joking,” Vereesa gasped and dropped her olive in her lap. It rolled off her shirt leaving an oily trail. “You’re not joking?”

“I somewhat wish she was,” Sylvanas said. “I cannot say I’m the biggest supporter of this endeavour.”

“I, on the other hand,” Jaina added, “am a staunch supporter of this endeavour. I believe this is a matter of doing what the greater good requires of us, and that only takes a little selflessness that we all have somewhere deep down.”

Sylvanas only awarded her a taunting smile.

“The universe would surely agree that allowing Quel’Thalas to be run over by the Amani due to carelessness or neglect would not constitute a victory for Greater Good.”

“There’s so much curious tension in this room,” Vereesa said, “and I don’t understand half of it.”

“I shall clear it up for you,” Jaina said and placed her bottle on the table. “I have a minor problem with your sister that we can’t seem to solve today.”

Sylvanas scoffed, but Jaina continued, “Because she doesn’t truly believe in this mission and, thus, she doesn’t think it is worth her time to give up her very important duties for a month and a half.”

“Because my duties _are_ very important!”

“Vereesa, would you please tell her that you’re not on the brink of war with the trolls?” Jaina said.

“I am...not the most informed about the state of the war effort,” Vereesa admitted.

“Kael’thas told me,” Jaina said, “that you have a perfectly capable second-in-command - Lor’themar Theron. He has been with you for - how long now?”

“A few hundred years,” Vereesa delivered helpfully.

“Thank you. Unless he is somehow the slowest on the uptake in all of Azeroth, he might just be fine,” Jaina said. “The military won’t fall apart if you abdicate for a month or two.”

“Even so, Jaina,” Sylvanas said, “why should I go? Why does it matter if I’m there?”

“Because it matters to Kael’thas and it matters to you as well. You wouldn’t have set up the Dalaran experiment otherwise,” Jaina said. “I think you’re just afraid of ending up disappointed.”

Sylvanas let out a shaky sigh and then tried for a smile.

“Maybe I’m just afraid of your mother.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Jaina and Sylvanas bond over gossip, then they bond over siblings, then they bond over the Circle of Torment, then they bond over their mothers, then they bond straight into Sylvanas' bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for all the funny comments, I live for them! My motivation is through the roof. Now I only need to get my free time to go through the roof too so I won't be running late on these updates! (sorry!) This is now only between me and Capitalism.

“You are,” Jaina whispered to Sylvanas after Vereesa had made a huge show of giving them some much needed private time citing “weird energy” reasons and leaving to get her beauty sleep (also in her own words), which Sylvanas assumed was just code for standing with an ear pressed to the inside of her door for a good half hour. “You are such an ass.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Sylvanas matched the tone of barely-suppressed laughter in Jaina’s voice, and then popped a slice of sunfruit in her mouth. 

“Afraid of my mother? Really?” Jaina said and took a sip of her ale. “Do you wish for people to think you’re courting me?”

“Not ‘people’. Only Vereesa,” Sylvanas said.

“The gossip mill works fast, Sylvanas,” Jaina reminded her and fished for a slice of fruit too. “Soon you might find yourself co-parenting the triplets. Imagine the pamphlets: Prince Kael’thas’ former mistress, now a common unnamed courtesan, manipulates the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas into adopting Arthas Menethil’s bastards.”

“What a traumatic upbringing they shall have,” Sylvanas laughed. “I am truly sorry for them.”

“It could be worse.” Jaina shrugged and thought about that dark time in her life when she had almost married Arthas Menethil, which evidently would’ve resulted in children at some point, triplets or otherwise. 

“You could’ve roped Antonidas into your scheme somehow. An unexpected romance where the student became the teacher,” Sylvanas mused and deftly leaned back and sank into her throw pillows to dodge a slap-attack to the shoulder. “Stop abusing me! Think about the example you’re setting for our children.” 

“You’re right. I’m so very sorry.” Jaina put her hand above her heart and said, “I promise to never lay a single finger on you again.”

“Well, I didn’t say that-”

“No, no,” Jaina said, “I respect your wishes.”

“Hilarious,” Sylvanas drawled but her grin betrayed her. “You know it was only fair I teased Vereesa after the production she put on tonight. I don’t know what you two had talked about but she was anything but subtle. Sometimes I like to remind her of our sisterly hierarchy where I am the one doing the teasing and she is the one doing the suffering.”

“I respect that. As her older sister, you have to do what you have to do to keep her in line or she just grows on you like fungus,” Jaina said in mock-seriousness. “I have a little brother, he is a terror too.”

“How old is he?”

“Sixteen,” Jaina sighed. “Terrible age for humans. He only cares about ships and girls and girls on ships. Possibly ships on girls too but I’m unsure of the practical applications of that concept.”

“Sixteen is a terrible age for everyone,” Sylvanas said. “For example, sixteen-year-old gnoll women have to go through the Grand Climacteric. Imagine that.”

“I would rather not,” Jaina said. “You have an easy time joking about things like that but some of us are painfully mortal and facing a life of rapid ageing in a world that only values youth.”

“None of you ever examine the downsides. Imagine a person functioning exactly as you do,” Sylvanas said, “and having to go through the exact same thing every month, forever, and with no end in sight. I have drunk my share of tranquiliser potions. The equivalent of Lordamere Lake, I would estimate.”

“While this is the most fascinating and awful conversation topic I have ever been subjected to,” Jaina said and stood up from the couch to grab the last slice of sunfruit, “I wish we could revisit that part when you used our correspondence as a pedagogic tool. I still want to reiterate that I’d prefer if you didn’t give Vereesa new ideas for my future torment, because, in the end, it all circles back to me.”

“Unless you mean it, of course,” Jaina added after a beat.

Sylvanas answered her with a single raised eyebrow and a grin.

“You shall know when I mean it,” she said.

Jaina mirrored her smile and said, “Shall I? I don’t believe you have the best history of saying what you mean.”

“And  _ you _ do?”

Jaina laughed at that and instead of answering in a satisfying fashion said, “Would you show me to your room? Or shall we just eat, drink and be merry until one of us passes out on this couch and the other one automatically wins the bed?”

“Help me get these to the kitchen”-Sylvanas started to stack their glasses together-“and I shall get you the best bed in this house.”

Jaina made an attempt at a ranger-salute as she had seen Nathanos do, which earned her an amused huff, and then they proceeded to clear the table with efficacy worthy of a well-grooved duo that they definitely weren’t. Sylvanas cleaned and rinsed all their dishes while Jaina cast a quick cooling spell on the pantry connected to the kitchen to keep their leftovers fresh.

“Straight to bed with you? Or would you like to get the full tour of Windrunner Spire?” Sylvanas said as they reached the top of the spiral staircase. “It is quite a rare privilege.”

“Hardly sounds like a full tour without seeing Vereesa’s room,” Jaina noted and gestured at the door with a beam of candlelight illuminating its threshold. Vereesa was still suspiciously awake.

“You can always choose to spend the night with her,” Sylvanas said. “But I would rather you didn’t.”

“Any reason for that you’d like to share?”

“I want her well rested for tomorrow because I asked Velonara to put her through her paces,” Sylvanas said, not rising to her challenge. She motioned for Jaina to turn right - the corridor led them to the right Spire, where Alleria’s room was situated. “And I know her enough to know she wouldn’t sleep a wink with you in her room. She would be too busy hiding all the evidence of an embarrassing childhood. According to her, at least.”

“You think her mission in Khaz Modan pales in comparison to ours in Kalimdor?” Jaina said, stopping to look at the paintings hung on the corridor walls. Sylvanas followed her gaze onto the one that depicted Alleria in Farstrider armour, posture like an arrow, her face proud and determined. “Enough to warrant some targeted training?”

“Not at all,” Sylvanas said. “It’s not about her skills, it is about her morale. There’s nothing better to clear her head than some strenuous drills.”

“You think her head needs clearing?” 

“She wouldn’t say but I can tell her mission wasn’t that much of a roaring success,” Sylvanas said. “If I have tells, she has an entire five-hundred-page dissertation written and printed titled  _ The  358 Ways Vereesa Windrunner _ _Cannot Lie_.”

Jaina snorted at that and leaned closer to inspect the ceremonial sword displayed next to the painting.

“You wish to instil some confidence in her?” Jaina asked. “Just tell her that you believe in her.”

“If only that was so easy.” Sylvanas sighed. “Vereesa wants to live up to my expectations of her that she believes I have and if I tell her otherwise she accuses me of coddling her. In every other aspect of her life, she wants me to coddle her but not about her job. Never about that.”

“She did tell me tonight that you are all terrible about your self-worth,” Jaina noted and then resumed her walk.

Sylvanas nodded and said, “Maybe so. We have just chosen different scapegoats to blame.”

They stopped by the ash wood door to Alleria’s - and later Lirath’s - room and Sylvanas laid her palm on the frame, fondly. 

“This was my sister’s room. I don’t come in here a lot, but”-she mulled over a couple of words to choose from-“this is part of who I am and I think I might prefer you to know me. If that suits you too.”

“It suits me.”

Sylvanas opened the door and held it open for Jaina.

“Would you please do me the honour?” Sylvanas pointed at the chandelier, to which Jaina responded with a precise fire spell to light the candles.

The room was a strange mixture of Alleria’s and Lirath’s interests cramped into a relatively small space. Every square inch of the walls was covered with shelves full of books, semi-precious stones, and various crystals, vials of unknown liquids and stacks of scrolls witnessing Lirath’s reign, while the small desk and the dresser were covered with maps of Eversong Forest, an assortment of knives, and antlers shed by long-dead deer providing proof that Alleria Windrunner had once been a teen too. It all had a strange atmosphere of existing out of time, desolate yet untouched by decay, thanks to Kael’thas’ conservation spells.

Sylvanas had always assumed their parents hadn’t accounted for children when they had built the Spire which was quite hilarious in hindsight. That is how Alleria had been given the guest bedroom, Sylvanas’ had the study fixed up, and Vereesa had essentially moved into their parents’ wardrobe room. There was a reason why they had spent most of their time either in the living room or out in the woods.

“This is delightfully eclectic,” Jaina said. “May I?” 

Jaina pointed at a golden sextant and Sylvanas nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Did Alleria share this room with someone?” Jaina turned the sextant over in her hands, moving its index arm with clear fascination.

“Almost. She gave it up when our brother was born,” Sylvanas said easily. It was an odd notion perhaps but not an unwelcome one how Lirath’s memory didn’t stab a dagger in her heart anymore. “We ran out of rooms so he inherited Alleria’s when she moved out.”

“I didn’t know he was a mage,” Jaina said and put the sextant down. “There’s still some lingering arcane energy in this room. Can you feel it?”

Sylvanas shook her head but smiled. It was nice to know that his spirit remained in a way, even after all these years. She said, “He was Kael’thas’ apprentice, if you can believe that, long before we had an official relationship with the Kirin Tor.”

“I have such trouble imagining responsible and reliable Magister Kael’thas Sunstrider.”

“Don’t bother, he was none of that,” Sylvanas said. “Lirath was enamoured with him anyway, for lack of a better word.”

Sylvanas watched Jaina spin a globe of Azeroth with her index finger.

“He was always very...impressionable,” she added.

“Oh, did Kael’thas turn on his famous  _ charm _ ?” Jaina asked and put a small, goblin-made music box on her palm, apparently intent on touching every object in the room. “He seems to like young and impressionable mages.”

“Belore, no,” Sylvanas sputtered. “I might’ve strangled him.”

“Were you this protective of all your siblings or did you only torment Lirath?”

Sylvanas grabbed an amethyst from one of the shelves and lifted it to look at it in the candlelight, then said, “There’s a flow of sisterly oppression and it only moves downwards the family tree. Alleria pestered me and I pestered the rest. As a middle child yourself, I am sure you know how it is.”

“I have only brothers,” Jaina said. “Well,  _ had _ . When you’re the only girl, all the pestering in the family is directed straight at you. I am almost twenty-three and I still refrain from divulging anything about my love life to anyone.”

“Is that so? Not even about the dashing heir of Lordaeron?” Sylvanas put the amethyst back in its exact place.

“Not besides the necessary, no,” Jaina said and rolled out a hand-drawn map of Quel’Thalas. “It was dreadful enough to sit down with my parents and talk about courting and betrothal and  _ children _ . I would rather not go through that again.”

“I do not envy you,” Sylvanas said. “My parents would have had quite the trouble with me if the fate of our lineage was to rest on my shoulders. Thankfully, their expectations towards me were strictly of the professional kind.”

“Oh, I haven’t even considered that conversation with my mother,” Jaina said with a laugh. “She would have a seizure, I’m sure. The only daughter of Daelin Proudmoore - a deviant. Scandalous.”

“Maybe it is for the best I don’t meet her then,” Sylvanas said and moved to stand closer to Jaina. “Vereesa has told me that I have a certain  _ air _ about me.”

Jaina raised her eyebrows at that.

“I can guarantee you that neither my mother nor my father has an eye for that,” she said. “I’m evidence of that.”

Sylvanas thought of replying, saying something about how they were not all the same, but Jaina was faster.

“Just how,” she started, “how invested are you in this Windrunner Spire tour?”

“You wish to retire to your room?”

“Yes. To  _ your _ room,” Jaina said and grinned at her. She was positively impish. “Would you join me and continue this?”

~~~

“Why won’t you come on the mission?” Jaina waited little to address her after they entered Sylvanas’ room.

She used the lull in their conversation to take in the place where Sylvanas spent most of her time when she was only Sylvanas Windrunner and not the Ranger-General. It was about as austere as she had expected, and yet it felt familiar and even homey to her. The walls were light and covered with paintings of landscapes (some of them amateurish at best, as if a child had painted them), except for the wall opposite the double bed, which had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering it. Besides a small dresser and a stand for Sylvanas’ armour and weapons, the room had little else in it.

“How much do you know about our current conflict with the trolls?” Sylvanas asked and opened the door that led to the balcony. Judged by the noises, a chorus of cicadas and frogs were singing around the Spire, trying to out-yell each other.

“Only the basics Kael’thas told me,” Jaina admitted. She was not going to pretend with Sylvanas, she decided.

“I would rather you didn’t repeat this to anyone,” Sylvanas said after a long pause, “but the Amani tribes are right to hate us. What is an inspiring story about refugees finding their promised land after years of exile is just an invasion of a foreign nation to the trolls. Our ancestors were, in essence, colonisers.”

“It is mind-boggling to me how a conflict over land can last for thousands of years without a victory for either side or reconciliation or reparation or  _ anything _ .”

“We have had periods of ceasefire,” Sylvanas said. “This current one has lasted for years now. I’d rather not falsely embellish my own involvement in that but I have had to work a lot since the Great War ended to keep it that way. I would be more than prepared to negotiate a peace treaty but I don’t have the authority to do so, which leaves us right here.”

“You truly are worried about this,” Jaina noted as she wrestled with the first tendrils of shame touching upon her heart. She had fallen into the trap of trivialisation and now she had to crawl out of it.

“I am,” Sylvanas said. “I might have issues with letting go of the real or imagined control I have over this situation.”

“I think I can relate to that,” Jaina said and sat down on Sylvanas’ bed. “If I feel like I’m losing control of my life I tend to either completely ignore or understate my problem.”

Sylvanas gave her a flicker of a smile and said, “That sounds very tempting and ineffective. I wish I could let you teach me how to indulge myself, but unfortunately for me, the last time the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas ignored the Amani threat, she died and left her nation wholly unprepared for the war to come.”

Jaina searched Sylvanas’ face for a moment, looking for anything beyond her clenched jaw and furrowed brows, a sign of vulnerability or pain, but it never surfaced. She beckoned Sylvanas to join her on the bed.

“Your mother,” Jaina said.

“Yes,” Sylvanas said and moved to sit next to Jaina. “She was a great general, the best we had seen until she wasn’t.”

“Would you,” Jaina started and stopped for a moment, “Would you tell me about her?” 

“I am not sure what to tell,” Sylvanas said and laughed. It sounded bitter. “What a strange feeling, being tongue-tied when I have an ocean of feelings about her. Most of them are not positive.” 

Jaina reached out to touch Sylvanas’ wrist. It was unexpectedly hot under her fingertips. She swallowed and then said, “I know my sympathy changes next to nothing, but I am sorry. As you have probably already guessed, I have a difficult mother too.”

“You shock me, Jaina Proudmoore,” Sylvanas said and Jaina nodded in understanding.  _ So, that was the end of that.  _ Jaina let go of her hand.

“Have you ever been to Kul Tiras?”

“Not yet, but it is definitely on my list of places to never visit, so I’m praying for another peaceful, Kul Tiras-free year,” Sylvanas drawled.

“Charming,” Jaina said blankly. “Whatever did we do to deserve such contempt?”

“You decided to make ale,” Sylvanas said. “I tried to enjoy it for you but I found it rather harsh on my tastebuds.”

“Well, it is a harsh place for harsh people,” Jaina said. “Like my mother. I’m only such a delight because I spent most of my youth in Dalaran.”

“You’re a delight?”

“I thought I was,” Jaina said and tilted her head, “but if you prefer the jabs of the Jaina from the letters, you only need to say so. I can find new ways to annoy you.”

“What a relief,” Sylvanas said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I have a lot of things on my mind,” Jaina admitted. 

“Tell me about them. And I genuinely, truly hope you aren’t thinking about either of our mothers.”

Jaina couldn’t even laugh. She pressed her left palm against her heated cheek, relishing the coolness of her skin. Sylvanas was looking at her with an intensity that even Katherine Proudmoore could read as intended. Jaina had lost track of time a while ago.

“Please, stop bringing up my mother,” she said.

“Well, I believe that entire conversation was your idea and not mine,” Sylvanas pointed out.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina said, “allow me to be direct.”

“It is allowed.” Sylvanas’ voice was hoarse and Jaina considered that a victory.

“I need you to tell me if you find me attractive.”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes at that. 

“ _That_ is the thing on your mind? Don’t you already know?”

“No,” Jaina lied. “I don’t, and I’m not going to assume either way because I’m historically bad at assumptions about my love life.”

Sylvanas just stared at her, and Jaina took it as prompting to continue.

“I also need you to know that I’m going to be fine either way. If you are worried,” she said. “I think I might be an expert on getting turned down by the Windrunner women.”

Sylvanas closed her eyes and did not say a word for what felt like an aeon. Jaina briefly pondered the height of the Spire and how unhealthy would it be to jump off the balcony.

“I don’t want you to be fine,” Sylvanas said eventually.

“I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want you to be fine either way,” Sylvanas said, her eyes now boring into Jaina’s. “I don’t want you to be nonchalant about something that makes me lose all my nerves.”

“This is you without any nerves?” Jaina blurted out. “Mostly suave? Mostly fine?”

“I am completely devoid of any nerves,” Sylvanas said. “All of them were replaced by mana wyrms the moment you set foot in Silvermoon.”

“That condition sounds very severe,” Jaina said. “You should have it looked at.”

“Are you offering?”

Jaina doubled over at that, collapsing onto the bed, laughing. “You are so full of it. Full of horseshit.”

Sylvanas laid back next to her, their shoulders touching. Jaina rolled her head to the side to look at her, still wracked by bouts of laughter.

“You think I am always full of it,” Sylvanas reminded her. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this the moment,” Jaina asked, “when I’m supposed to just  _ know _ you mean your words?”

Sylvanas turned towards her too, her features washed out by the low contrast of the moonlight filtering through the curtains of her balcony door.

“Only if that pleases you,” she said.

“It pleases me,” Jaina said and after a moment of hesitation and careful gathering of all courage, she added, “or at least, it shall please me.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> More horizontal bonding for Jaina and Sylvanas. Hopefully, Vereesa is long asleep and not eavesdropping!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for all your comments and kudos and fan art (I'm still shocked about that one)! I love interacting with you :)

_It shall please me._

Sylvanas’ heart seemed to skip two whole beats before it jolted back into rhythm, speeding up as if to make up for the lost time, drumming in her ears diligently to remind her that she was somehow still quite alive, despite everything pointing to the contrary.

She groaned and then her groan dissolved into shaky laughter.

“You are murdering me, Jaina.”

Jaina threw her arm over Sylvanas’ abdomen - clearly, she had no fear of death upon further bodily contact - and said, “Touch my wrist.”

Sylvanas hesitated, only for a moment, then put the pads of her fingers on Jaina’s bare skin. She could feel the thrum of her blood under her fingers, steady and fast. Maybe too fast, much like hers. Sylvanas’ mouth and throat felt dried up like the riverbed of the Elrendar during the Great Drought of the year 8547. That was not a line of thought she wanted to follow so she shooed it away. 

“Can you feel my pulse?” Jaina said and Sylvanas nodded. “Who is killing who, again?”

She grabbed Jaina’s hand, gently as if it was fine porcelain or a simile for something equally fragile she couldn’t name because her brain drew a complete blank, and placed it over the side of her neck. She hoped Jaina could feel the off-beat syncopation of her heart through her jugular.

“It is a murder-suicide,” Sylvanas said, then swallowed to alleviate some of the dryness. “What a sad way to end an otherwise perfectly adequate day.”

“Do you always get macabre with the women in your bed?” Jaina said, mirth lacing her voice. “Is this your _thing_?”

“I thought you’d be more offended by my ‘adequate’ comment,” Sylvanas said and gave Jaina’s hand a slight squeeze.

“No, that’s fair,” Jaina said. “My first day here was a bit better in terms of overall satisfaction but I wouldn’t kick today out of my bed either.”

“Well, today’s not over for another hour, should you wish to work on your satisfaction,” Sylvanas reminded her, and then lifted their hands to compare them palm-to-palm. Her palm was shorter and narrower than Jaina’s but her fingers significantly longer with slightly knobby knuckles. Jaina’s hand was smoother and free of calluses, but not free of small burn scars, as if she had had one too many accidents with fire spells and had never bothered to get them fixed. Despite their different proportions, their hands fit well together. She intertwined their fingers.

“That’s plenty of time for a lot of things,” Jaina said, dragging out the words. “Some artisan basket weavers can weave up to-”

“Belore,” Sylvanas moaned. “Vereesa deserves cosmic punishment for this.”

“Because she made that comment?” Jaina said. “Or because she introduced us?”

Sylvanas made a show of pursing her lips as if she was twenty feet deep in thought, and Jaina bumped their joined hands against her mouth, almost unnecessarily gently.

“Stop making that face,” Jaina said. 

“Well, stop talking nonsense and then I shall consider another face.”

“Deal,” Jaina said and moved their hands onto the covers of Sylvanas’ bed and laid them between them as a bridge. The cool night air hit Sylvanas’ neck at the spot no longer warmed by Jaina, and she broke out in goosebumps. “Truthfully, when you invited me over, this wasn’t how I imagined our evening.”

“Really”-Sylvanas arched an eyebrow at that-“How did you imagine it?”

“Oh, pretty much exactly like this,” Jaina said with a grin. “Only two hours earlier. I thought you’d never send Vereesa up to her room.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me not to give her ideas?” Sylvanas said and Jaina only replied with an eye-roll. “No, don’t roll your eyes. That was you.”

“Are you saying that I’m giving you mixed signals?”

Sylvanas chose a minor lie. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. However, if you wish for a change of pace, you could always just make up your mind.”

Jaina rolled to her side to face Sylvanas with her whole body. “It is made up,” she said.

Sylvanas propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at Jaina, at her hair spread out on her pillows, wild and messy, at the slight furrow of her brows, and the light freckles dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes seemed storm grey as the low light desaturated every colour in the room, and Sylvanas thought of that metaphor she had made up for her heart. A kite in a storm.

“Allow me to be direct,” Sylvanas echoed Jaina’s word back to her. 

Jaina stared at her for a moment, then said, “It is allowed.”

Sylvanas’ pulse sped up at that, the arteries in her neck working overtime. She felt lightheaded, the type of faintness she would get after a bottle of ale or a kiss with a too-beautiful woman, and she was glad Jaina couldn’t read her mind. She inhaled and exhaled, slowly and deliberately, willing her heart to settle. Jaina’s gaze didn’t help her case at all - it was curious and open, drilling a deeper hole in Sylvanas’ self-control with every blink of her eyes.

“Do you want me, Jaina Proudmoore?” 

It was barely a whisper, but Jaina reacted instantaneously. She curled up her fingers, her nails biting into the back of Sylvanas’ hand and leaving small dents on her skin.

“Want you?” Jaina said, her voice airy. “I have wanted you since you wrote that ridiculous essay on _Stormy Seas_.”

Sylvanas couldn’t halt the laugh bubbling up her throat. 

“Is that so?” she said. “You were attracted to my analytical acumen?”

“You know how academics work,” Jaina said. “You presented me the hypothesis that Kul Tirans didn’t know how to pleasure women. Well, I am Kul Tiran and I am a woman, which makes me the perfect test subject for experimentation.”

“You,” Sylvanas croaked out and then cleared her throat, “You experimented.”

“Chalk it up to scientific curiosity,” Jaina said and moved to imitate Sylvanas’ pose. “You went into great detail about angles and methods and positions”-Jaina drew a circle in the air with their hands-“Of course, I could not test all of them alone. My research is hardly peer-reviewed.”

“Did you arrive at a conclusion?”

Jaina hummed and said, “Well, I cannot speak for every one of my fellow Kul Tirans, but I have learnt that this one here shall do _just_ fine. At the very least, she is doing more than fine on her own.”

Sylvanas laughed because she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t quite set herself on fire, after all. 

“I am satisfied to know that I could help to _tide_ you over this period of solitary scientific research,” she said after her laughter gentled into a smile.

“Tide me over? Truly?” Jaina said. “You decided to go with _that_? Not a joke about assisting me with my research or suggesting further testing?”

“I would never joke about that,” Sylvanas said and it was true.

“I would hope not,” Jaina whispered.

Sylvanas untangled their fingers and moved her hand to hover next to Jaina’s face, reluctant to touch her skin. She settled on sliding her fingers over the stitching of Jaina’s robe where the sleeve connected to the shoulder.

“Jaina,” she sighed after three tours over the stitching, “May I kiss you?”

Jaina clasped Sylvanas’ wandering fingers and pressed them to her cheek. She was burning up too. Sylvanas’ eyes fluttered shut.

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I do,” Sylvanas said. “I really do.”

Jaina turned her face towards Sylvanas’ hand and stared her down, silently. Then, without breaking eye contact, she kissed Sylvanas’ palm with closed lips - tender and lingering too long for it to be a mere peck. Sylvanas couldn’t stop herself from sucking in a large mouthful of air and she only hoped it didn’t sound like she was choking on nothing.

“That is a yes,” Jaina murmured from behind Sylvanas’ fingers.

A tremor ran through Sylvanas’ hand and fresh goosebumps blossomed on her forearms. She wanted to slap herself for being so affected, so sensitive, so very...present. Perhaps it had been far too long, with her desires too far removed from her psyche, and her body reduced to a mere tool, a means to an end, because now that all that aligned in her mind in a near-forgotten synergy, she was grasped by trepidation.

“You’re not kissing me,” Jaina pointed out.

That shook Sylvanas out of her stupor. With pace agonising, she slid her hand from Jaina’s jawline to the back of her neck, her fingers threading through her hair. Jaina reached out too - a ghost of a touch travelling the length of Sylvanas’ ear to its tip and Sylvanas found herself running purely on instinct, gripping a fistful of Jaina’s hair. 

“If you pull out so much as a single hair,” Jaina hissed, “my wrath shall haunt you to the end of your days.”

Sylvanas relented, feeling only a little guilty.

“I can live with your wrath,” she said and pulled on Jaina’s neck, and she gave so easily, as though she had been waiting for that motion all evening, collapsing onto Sylvanas not unlike they had done on the beach, her face against hers, her hair a curtain around them. 

“You’re still not kissing me,” Jaina said and her breath hit Sylvanas’ ear in shallow puffs. “I’m starting to find you cruel.”

Sylvanas shifted to lay a kiss on Jaina’s neck, right below her jaw. She poured all her longing and all her unidentified, malformed emotions into it, the ones that shifted in and out of her thoughts, and Jaina responded with a gasp so slight, she would’ve missed it if she wasn’t pressed against her throat. She could feel Jaina swallow, evidence to her state of tense disarray - maybe not as tense as Sylvanas was, but at this point, she would settle for any level of shared insanity.

“I would never be cruel to you.”

A grunt escaped Jaina, and she said, “Liar.”

Sylvanas, no longer wishing to separate the needs of her body and the needs of her heart, did the only thing that made sense to her at that moment - she bit down on Jaina’s neck. Only a nip, sharper than she intended, but it swiftly melted into an open kiss, her mouth gliding over Jaina’s skin and then latching onto it, lips and tongue and teeth blended with Sylvanas’ desperation unleashed, free and vicious, too-ready to bring her to ruin.

A moan tore out of Jaina and a hiss too.

“Tides damn you,” Jaina said and brought their mouths together, frantic and determined, the game they had been playing for weeks culminating in a single point of collision. If the universe were to collapse on itself in that very moment, Sylvanas thought this would be a perfect way to consummate her existence, with Jaina Proudmoore’s teeth biting down on her lower lips - and then the welcome oblivion. Let the flood come and take her.

~~~

Jaina clutched the bedsheet in her fist, more than willing to tear it apart if the need called for it, then she reminded herself that she wanted to destroy Sylvanas and not her bed. With a hand trembling with nerves and adrenaline, she freed Sylvanas’ shirt from her pants, more than thankful that she had changed out of her armour the moment they had arrived at the Spire. After almost an hour of back and forth, an hour of ignoring the pleas of her body to get Sylvanas Windrunner on top of her, the idea of having to deal with clasps and layers abhorred her.

She fanned her fingers over her stomach and she almost laughed into Sylvanas’ mouth at how ridiculously, perfectly in-shape she was and how out-of-shape Jaina felt in comparison. Sylvanas’ muscles jumped under her touch. 

Jaina mentally grabbed her own shoulders and shook herself. With the way Sylvanas was kissing her - so very sincere and lacking the practised, methodical manner of a complacent lover -, there was no room for bashfulness or self-deprecation. 

Sylvanas _wanted_ her and while she didn’t know what it meant for them, and what her heart would say tomorrow, right now, in this bed, her body covering Sylvanas’, their legs tangled together and her palm flat against her torso, she wanted Sylvanas too. Infinitely so and that warranted a confession.

“I haven’t,” she said after she managed to break away from Sylvanas, “done this in a while.”

“Me neither,” Sylvanas said, panting. “Have you ever been with a-”

“Woman?” Jaina finished for her. “Not unless I count as one too.” 

Sylvanas just nodded at her and then snaked her arm around Jaina’s back to pull her closer, their faces inches away.

“But if I were you,” Jaina added, “I wouldn’t be too worried. I’m adept at using my mouth”-Sylvanas huffed at that-“to ask you what you like, of course.”

She looked down at Sylvanas and held her gaze for a lingering moment and then leaned in to share a leisurely kiss, gentler than death, counting on Sylvanas to get the right idea out of it.

“Where would you have me?” Jaina whispered into her lips.

Something flashed across Sylvanas’ face that looked awfully close to doubt or concern - a twitch rippling through her long eyebrows, drawing them together, and a jaw clenched for a fraction of a second. A blink and Jaina could’ve missed it.

“On your back,” Sylvanas said eventually and gave Jaina a final peck before she rolled them over. Jaina’s head hit the pillow with a thud and she sank deeper into it, the buckwheat hull filling noisily adjusting under her weight. Sylvanas brushed a few of Jaina’s locks out of her face, stray strands put back in to order - a nice contrast to how chaotic her insides felt, then she cupped her cheek. A gesture strangely tender for their position, and Sylvanas must’ve thought so too because she furrowed her brows yet again.

“Hey”-Jaina kissed her palm to reassure her, not unlike she had done before-“Are you all right? Is this all right?”

“This is nice.”

“It _is_ nice,” Jaina agreed, a lot less sure than she was five minutes ago. “Am I reading this wrong? Do you not want to…?”

“I do,” Sylvanas said and tapped her thumb to Jaina’s lips. Jaina chased after it and gave it a kiss. “I did. I had every intention to, but-”

Jaina cleared her throat and then, trying to sound unbothered, she said, “What changed?”

“We kissed,” Sylvanas said, barely audible.

Jaina felt like she had just been slapped or had a bucket of icy water dunked on her. She scrambled to sit up, headbutting Sylvanas in the process.

“Oh, fuck!” Jaina yelped. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Sylvanas said, “Don’t worry.”

Jaina massaged the top of her head and said, “I didn’t think that kiss was so bad. I rather enjoyed it and-”

“It’s not that.”

“ _Actually_ , it was a damn good kiss,” Jaina said and clenched her fists to hold back from touching Sylvanas again. “Maybe quel’dorei have different standards for kissing? Maybe you like terrible kisses? Maybe you like to rotate your tongue like a damned windmill and I wasn’t weird enough? How was I supposed to know?”

“Jaina, stop,” Sylvanas said. “I _loved_ kissing you.”

“Good...great.” Jaina worried her lower lip between her teeth. She was an uncomfortable amalgam of confused and frustrated and starving to be touched. Before she could give it another thought, she reached out to smooth down the wrinkled collars of Sylvanas’ shirt. So much for keeping her hands to herself. “I loved kissing you too. You’re a decent kisser. Slightly above average.”

“High praise,” Sylvanas said and exhaled before she continued, “I don’t think I can take you to bed, Jaina,”

“You already have,” Jaina said.

“I thought I knew how I felt about you,” Sylvanas said and Jaina could already feel the tears of embarrassment and _anger_ prickling at the corners of her eyes. She felt so utterly stupid.

“Now that’s familiar territory,” she managed. “I understand.”

“You really don’t,” Sylvanas said and Jaina wanted to scoff at her but she was too afraid it would come out as a sob and she couldn’t afford a _sob_ of all things. “Right now, I want you so much that I could die.”

“Well, you don’t need to,” Jaina said. “I am right here. Willing and able.”

Sylvanas closed her eyes as if looking at Jaina gave her a headache, or at least that’s what Jaina imagined.

“I don’t know how to deal with grey areas,” Sylvanas said. “I thought I would be fine because we are strangers.”

“But we are not,” Jaina said.

“We are not,” she agreed, “and we aren’t lovers either, and I am not sure what any of this would mean to me or to you. I don’t want to take-”

“You’re not taking advantage of me,” Jaina cut her off. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am an adult woman with adult needs and wants.”

“I know that.”

“Good. I wasn’t sure you did,” Jaina said. “What is _not_ a grey area for you? I would prefer to know so that I could move myself over there and then, preferably, you above me.”

Sylvanas laughed at that, finally, leaving Jaina triumphant and with a knot in her stomach marginally smaller than before.

“I either sleep with a woman because I love them wholly, consumingly,” Sylvanas said and laid back against the headboard of her bed, “or because I covet their body but not their soul. Everything else is a grey area where I find myself out of control. I don’t enjoy that.”

Jaina wasn’t sure if she wished to laugh hysterically or to cry, because she was still dreadfully wanting.

“And I’m neither?” she asked instead.

“I thought you were the latter,” Sylvanas said, “but you bewilder me.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jaina said and she suppressed her laugh - and it was definitely a laugh by now - because Sylvanas didn’t look receptive to that display. “You won’t sleep with me because you _like_ me? I have certainly never heard that one before.”

“I might like you more than I expected,” Sylvanas admitted. “You turned out to be far more likeable than your first letter suggested.”

Jaina propped herself up against the headboard too and turned to study Sylvanas.

“That’s rich,” she said. “Your first letter was infuriating - and look! Nothing has changed, you are still utterly infuriating, only in new and fascinating ways I wish I’ve never had to learn about.”

“Tell me I’m wrong, tell me there’s nothing unexplored between us,” Sylvanas said. “Say so and I’ll bury this and then we can go back to all of this.”

It took Jaina ten whole seconds to wrestle with the three forces inside her: her body telling her to lie, her mind telling her to shut down, and her heart tentatively, hopefully pushing her towards Sylvanas.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” she said. “Tides, how I hate looking at you right now.”

Sylvanas laughed and said, “Do you want me to leave the room?”

“No,” Jaina groaned. “I shall live. I have survived the last year too, I shall survive this one too.”

“Well, I wouldn’t think you’d have to wait that long-”

“Sylvanas, I’m begging you, don’t make me strangle you,” Jaina said. “Is this somehow a cursed family trait? Does every Windrunner woman want to be as annoying as the universe lets them? If you get struck by lightning, take it as a sign.”

“I’m sorry,” Sylvanas said. “I would like to get to know you better while I stay as blissfully alive as I am right now.”

“Deal,” she said. “Good luck with all that; you shall have your work cut out for you. Or did you forget I’m leaving in two days?”

“I still have the Envelope,” Sylvanas reminded her.

“I am going to be on a mission,” Jaina said. “Hardly think I’ll have the time to write you heartfelt letters asking about your favourite colour or the name of your first hawkestrider.”

“You may try to remind yourself when you’re on a ship, bored out of your mind.”

Jaina moved her hands to play with Sylvanas’ hair, and said, “Six whole weeks. That’s how much it shall take if we aren’t delayed anywhere.”

Sylvanas just hummed at that. 

“That’s six whole weeks without this _magnificent_ body,” Jaina continued because she hadn’t got the desired response. “You better remember this very moment. This shall be all you have for the foreseeable future.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Vereesa deals with The Aftermath, Rommath is jealous, Kael'thas goes out of his way to annoy Sylvanas, Rhonin gets a makeover, Modera is ready to get down and dirty and the ship is about to leave but not before Sylvanas and Jaina attempt more friendship and vertical bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank you all for your amazing support! This fic started out as entirely self-indulgent but it sure helps me to be about 10000% more motivated than I would be otherwise knowing that you are enjoying this fun journey together with me! You are the best.

Vereesa folded out the glossy gossip paper Modera had passed to her back in Dalaran (it was supposedly full of the juicy rumours she had missed in the last weeks and definitely shouldn’t have had missed, according to Modera). She smoothed the pages out on the kitchen table and then warmed her hands with her fresh cup of coffee. Alleria had always told her that she had murloc hands, cold and clammy even in the heat of summer as if her heart beat too slow, too weak. She had retaliated by putting them on Alleria’s face or her bare feet when they had lounged on the living room couch, making her scream and kick at Vereesa, occasionally falling off the couch altogether. A fond smile snuck onto her face at that memory. She put a hand over her heart and, as expected, it beat strong and steady, even now when she was anything but.

She was intent on soaking up some mindless entertainment. She could really use that – her head still felt filled to the brim with the confusion, the exhilaration, the terror and the true fear of death that her last mission had ingrained in her. She had all the time now, waiting for her sweet rice porridge to simmer to perfection in the old iron pot she had hung above the hearth, and also waiting for her sister and Jaina to crawl out of Sylvanas’ bedroom because the rooster’s crow had stirred only one person in the Spire. 

She turned the page and grimaced; she had no stomach to read about the ten most eligible bachelors in the Kirin Tor or the supposed new betrothed of Arthas Menethil.

_Interesting_.

Apparently, Kael’thas had left Dalaran to fight a custody battle with some pirate courtesan orc from Kalimdor. Vereesa snorted at that. That was just the nature of gossip, she figured - a tiny bit of truth to a whole lot of nonsense, enough for people to say “where there’s smoke” and then trail off mysteriously.

With a gasp of horror, she quickly leafed through the whole magazine looking for her own name or Rhonin’s or _Alexstrasza’s_.

She found nothing.

She exhaled slowly and then finished her coffee.

Sylvanas and Jaina finally appeared in the kitchen together; both of them sported dark circles under their eyes and a faint pink blossom of a blush on their cheeks as if they were running a fever. Jaina’s hair looked like it had been used as a nest by a family of songbirds, and then consequently abandoned when better living conditions sprouted up elsewhere.

“Oh, you two look like you’ve been barfed out by an owl,” Vereesa said as she looked up from _The Gossip Mill_ and then laughed at her own joke. “Did you catch a cold? Don’t come any closer.”

“No,” Sylvanas said. She poured whatever coffee was left in the pot into a mug and gave it to Jaina. “We are perfectly healthy.”

“We just didn’t sleep a lot,” Jaina added.

“Well, I thought it was a dumb idea to share a bed to begin with,” Vereesa said. “These are barely double beds. You try to sleep on your back and it is just rubbing shoulders and elbows. Uncomfortable.”

Jaina sipped her coffee and said nothing.

“I suppose you could put the pillows on opposite ends of the bed,” Vereesa mused. “Oh, nevermind. Ranger boots. The leather smell _lingers_.”

“ _Thank you_ , Vereesa,” Sylvanas said.

Jaina touched Sylvanas’ elbow, and Vereesa noted how her expression of annoyance smoothed out into something a lot more pleasant. _Fondness_.

Vereesa squinted at them and took stock of the signs: they had shared a bed, they had had no sleep, they were blushing, they had weird tension and Jaina with that haystack hair looked properly well-fu—

_Oh, Belore._

“You!” Vereesa yelped without any warning. “You did not!”

“We did _not,_ ” Jaina hissed, clearly trying to shush her. Vereesa was unshushable.

“I can’t believe you felt like you had to lie to me,” Vereesa cried. “About something so monumental and life-changing.”

Sylvanas just looked between them with raised eyebrows. Jaina passed her her mug of coffee and grabbed Vereesa by the wrist, tugging to get her up from her chair.

“Can we talk?” Jaina ground out between her teeth and Vereesa followed her.

“Stir the porridge!” she shouted to Sylvanas from the living room and allowed Jaina to pull her upstairs.

“What?” 

Jaina ran both of her hands through her hair, and said, “I didn’t sleep a lick, my head is about to explode, I’m very _frustrated_ , and the last thing I need is you starting this conversation in front of your sister.”

“I just want you to be honest with me,” Vereesa said. “This is so not a big deal. It was unexpected, sure, maybe I was even weirded out by it at first but ultimately, I support you.”

“Thank you but there’s nothing to support,” Jaina said and after a pause added, “Yet”–she sighed then and leaned over the bannisters, looking down at the stairs spiralling upwards–“Tact is all I’m asking for. I am also far from comfortable discussing whatever we did and did not do with your sister.”

Those words punched Vereesa straight in the heart.

“Is this because of Sylvanas?” she said. “Or is it because of me?”

“The issue is one and the same,” Jaina said. “You might be my best friend but you’re also her sister and as such, there are lines of loyalty you shouldn’t cross.”

“So, what now?” Vereesa opened her arms. “We’re just never going to talk about your feelings?”

“No,” Jaina said and hugged her arms to her chest, “I don’t know. I don’t even know where to start verbalising them.”

“All right,” Vereesa relented. “Will you promise me to find someone to talk these things through?”

“Of course,” Jaina said. 

“Good,” Vereesa reached out to squeeze Jaina’s hand. “I don’t want you to do what you did with the whole Arthas _thing_.”

Jaina snorted at that and pulled Vereesa into a very welcome hug.

“This is so not like the Arthas thing.”

“Oh, joy,” Vereesa laughed. “I am happy to know I won’t have to commit sororicide. Or bestfriendicide.”

Jaina shook her head and lead them back downstairs.

~~~

Grand Magister Rommath definitely did not like anything that Jaina had to offer, from her respectful but friendly greeting in Thalassian to her suggestion to share notes on arcane encryption, and Jaina figured his eternally pursed lips and curt manner were the best that he had in store for her. His decidedly sour expression found its way onto his face when Sylvanas left the two of them alone in Rommath’s study. She briefly wondered if she had somehow managed to offend his mother between saying “good morning” and “it is a pleasure to meet you” because that would’ve explained at least some of his barely disguised disdain for her very existence. 

“His Majesty wishes for your swift return,” he drawled and his hands started to glow blue with arcane energy as he began casting his spell. 

“I understand. I shall make sure to portal back with Archmage Modera at her earliest convenience,” Jaina said and tried to absorb the familiar and yet alien atmosphere of the room: the numerous crystals and gems blinking with a light that hinted at an arcane or even a fel energy source (Jaina was tactful not to ask about that), machinery with a hundred lenses and cogwheels that measured something that Jaina was not privy to, and – strangely enough – a plethora of house plants taking up almost every free surface.

“ _Modera_ …well, of course. I should have known,” Rommath said, and before Jaina could prompt him to elaborate he opened up the portal. “The portal is ready. Perfectly placed, _naturally_.”

“Thank you for your help,” Jaina said.

“It is truly nothing a mage of my calibre couldn’t do,” he said. “Al diel shala, Lady Proudmoore.”

“ _I hope your day gets better,_ ” Jaina told him in Thalassian and stepped into the portal. 

She could still hear his scoff as the arcane current took hold of her, passing through her and taking her apart, and the last thought she had before she resurfaced in Dalaran, in the middle of her room, no nausea or migraine ailing her, was that it was imperative to become Rommath’s apprentice on transmutation. One day.

~~~

“I didn’t get the impression that the Grand Magister liked me,” Jaina said to Modera as they crossed Runeweaver Square, their luggage following them obediently, levitating a few feet off the ground, floating around other passers-by. “Or that he liked you, for that matter.”

Modera let out a boisterous laugh and clasped Jaina’s shoulder, then said, “Oh, you’re sweet to downplay it! If you catch Kael’thas’ eye, you get Rommath with him in a terrible package of snide remarks and condescension”–Modera winked at her–“Welcome to the club. It is the least exclusive one in the world.”

Jaina groaned in agony.

“Shall this ever end?”

“With Rommath? Certainly,” Modera said. “He will get off your case the moment Kael’thas finds a new object for his affection.”

On the far end of the square, Rhonin Redhair was in full Kirin Tor purple, standing next to an enormous stack made up of wooden boxes, leather bags and three different telescopes with their legs bound together with rope. He had his hair slicked back into a ponytail so neat and proper that Jaina had to do a double-take. He had even trimmed back his beard and that was very much not his personal style.

“Which reminds me,” Modera said, “that a little bird told me how you had the most romantic clam dinner with the Ranger-General. I heard it was quite lavish.”

Jaina snorted – she didn’t have it in her to deny it or even get so much as annoyed by that.

“You must tell me of your sources one day,” Jaina said. 

“Hah, a lady never tells.” Modera grinned and greeted Rhonin with a wave. “So, just remind me some time and I’ll write you up a list.”

“Jaina, good to see you. It’s been a while,” Rhonin said with a warm smile. “Modera, I was happily surprised you chose to come with us.”

“Antonidas couldn’t keep me away with a pitchfork,” Modera said and clapped for emphasis. “I am going to Kalimdor and I’m going to dig things up. I can’t wait to be knee-deep in Kalimdoran dirt. Kalimdorian? Kalimdorese? Who cares!”–she threw up her hands and then pointed at Rhonin’s luggage–“What the hell is this?”

“Oh.” Rhonin smoothed down his already smooth hair. “I have reevaluated my life after my last mission and now I think more _is_ more. We are going into unknown territory so I must prepare for _everything_.”

Jaina bit her lip to restrain herself from commenting. _So, Sylvanas was at least somewhat right about that mission._ Maybe another chat with Vereesa was in order.

“Everything.” Modera hummed and then formed a portal with a few, well-practised gestures. “Is that...fireworks? You think we might need fireworks?”

“I don’t _think_ but we will have an entire ship for storage and I’m not taking chances.”

“Rhonin, my child,” Modera said and put her hand on his shoulder, “but not really because I’m not that old – did you pack up your entire room?”

“Would saying ‘no’ make me seem less paranoid?”

“No, I’ve already decided that you’re paranoid.” Modera waved nonchalantly. “You go ahead and we will throw these after you.”

Rhonin nodded and then disappeared into the azure blue swirl of the portal.

~~~

“Are you sure you can’t assign Lor’themar as my personal guard?” Kael’thas whined at Sylvanas. “What if I ask you very nicely?”

Sylvanas followed the line of soldiers with her gaze as they rolled barrels up the wooden planks leading up to the ship Kael’thas had chosen for their mission out of the three Sylvanas had suggested. The ship was being rocked gently by the waves of the Northern Sea, standing tall and grandiose even with its sails folded up. _Sungrace_ , it was called, and Kael’thas had specifically picked it because of the number of suites it had: four private rooms to host the seven supervisors. Kael’thas, naturally, claimed the captain’s room for himself, while the others were left to share, and Sylvanas could only imagine what kind of headbutting that would eventually invite. It was almost tempting enough to abandon her post.

“I’m _very_ _nicely_ going to offer up Nathanos. He is good at his job and I need Lor on the eastern borders. If you have any complaints, take them up with Ranger-Captain Anya,” Sylvanas said and when the fifth barrel was rolled up, she added, “Is that all pickled cabbage?”

“Evidently, darling. You know how strongly I feel about scurvy,” Kael’thas lamented. “These teeth”-he flashed his canines- “are my best assets. Look at them and tell me I’m not alluring.”

“Please,” Sylvanas groaned. “That didn’t work on me a thousand years ago, it won’t work now either.”

Kael’thas let out a belly laugh and some of the soldiers turned to blink at them. A barrel of pickled cabbage rolled back down to the pier and straight towards Anya and Nathanos, the former jumping over it with a flip and the latter stopping it with a hand before it had a chance to become flotsam. 

“See?” Sylvanas said. “He is useful. He has just personally saved you and your love life from the desolation of scurvy.”

Kael’thas blew a raspberry with his mouth and Sylvanas gave him an admonishing look.

“Anyhow, speaking of my love life,” Kael’thas said, “Now that the Lady Proudmoore is no longer my beloved”–Sylvanas wanted to tell him that Jaina had never been that but Kael’thas continued on before she could wedge in a word–“and she is free to be wooed, will you submit a courtship proposal to her parents to make your liaison a bit more _official_?”

Sylvanas briefly contemplated just when exactly it was justifiable or timely to murder your monarch-to-be with your bare hands and decided that it had to wait at least until Jaina came back from Kalimdor.

“I shall do no such thing,” Sylvanas ground out. “The only permission I need is hers and I would appreciate if you didn’t pester Jaina about that either.”

“It is not pestering,” Kael’thas said. “I only want you two to live in the marital bliss you deserve because I love you.”

Sylvanas felt the future date of her treason moving up as Kael’thas continued on with his unsolicited romantic advice.

“Profoundly early for that.”

“I know, I know.” Kael’thas put up his hands in defence. “But she is a _human_ , Sylvanas, you need to adjust your expectations! You know how they are – at twenty-two, she is basically a spinster. If you waste too much time, she might find someone else.”

“On this boat, you mean? In the next two months? Between all this cabbage?” Sylvanas said. “I am strangely unbothered by that possibility.” 

“Just some food for thought from your oldest friend, that’s all,” Kael’thas said. 

“I would rather starve,” Sylvanas said, handed Kael’thas the ship’s logbook and turned to leave. “I shall oversee the drills now. Until tomorrow, Kael.”

~~~

“Aren’t you disappointed to leave us so early?” Sylvanas said and climbed into the hammock she had hung over her balcony, settling in it with a grace of a sack of flour. “So many opportunities to embarrass yourself with your tragic Thalassian, now missed.”

“I don’t need to be in Silvermoon to do that,” Jaina pointed out with a grin. “While this isn’t how I planned things, I understand Kael’s reasoning. It is probably for the best to wrap this up before the first autumn storms arrive.”

Sylvanas considered asking her to share the hammock but the idea of wrapping Jaina up in her arms felt somewhat selfish now.

“The only thing I’m somewhat disappointed about”–Sylvanas raised her eyebrows in question and Jaina just grinned at her–“And no, I am not talking about last night, don’t give me that look – is that I didn’t get to spread awareness of our Kirin Tor cultural traditions.”

“Oh, excellent. We are back to _Naked ‘Nidas_ , aren’t we,” Sylvanas drawled. “That reminder is a gift I didn’t need and I would like to return it.”

“No refunds,” Jaina said and leaned on the railings of Sylvanas’ balcony, letting her gaze rest on the pinprick lights of Windrunner Village in the distance. She looked back at Sylvanas swinging left and right and said, “Besides, it would be me and not Antonidas.”

“And you think that would make me approve more?” Sylvanas laughed. “It is still against the law and you know how much of a stickler for rules I am.”

“I have a very hard time believing that,” Jaina said and pushed herself away from the railings to turn towards her. “I think you have a rebellious streak”–she tapped her cheek with her index finger, a playful gesture that made Sylvanas’ heart clench a bit–“I distinctly remember reading in your essay that one should never leave a lady high and dry. That seemed like quite an important rule and here we are.”

“Are you sure that’s how you would describe yourself?” Sylvanas said. “High and dry?”

“Well, I am twenty feet from the ground and obviously not swimming in a fountain,” Jaina said and Sylvanas had to chuckle at the diversion.

“We have a hot spring not too far from here,” Sylvanas said and sit up. “Certainly not public enough for exhibitionism purposes but it might be enough to alleviate some of that disappointment.”

~~~

“I am a little overdressed for this,” Jaina said when they reached the pond surrounded by large, flat volcanic rocks and a few, red-leaved weeping willows with some of their branches brushing the surface. The water was bubbling away gently and it emitted steam well-visible in the cooling night air. Jaina crouched down to check the temperature, and the pleasant shiver running down her spine told her it was exactly that warmth where she could just fall asleep on of those black rocks, in complete bliss, and then end up drowning by accident. “Let me fix that.”

Sylvanas stepped closer to her and said, “Would you like me to help?” 

Jaina swallowed, her mouth drier than the Silvermoon-style pretzels she had forgotten in the pockets of her robes two days ago. 

“I always have trouble with the pauldrons,” she said and moved her hair to the side to uncover the clasp on the back of her neck.

Sylvanas brushed aside more of her locks, and Jaina shuddered at her fingers touching her skin. They seemed even warmer than the water. 

“There you go,” Sylvanas whispered and lifted the pauldrons off of her shoulders, placing them on one of the larger stones, safely away from the spring.

“Shall you manage your sensible dress shirt and pants?” Jaina said and couldn’t hide the cheek in her voice. “Or should I lend a hand?”

“I shall do fine,” Sylvanas said.

“Now turn around.”

Sylvanas turned away and said, “You do know we shan’t wear small clothes anyway.”

“That matters not when I’m submerged to my chin”–Jaina pulled her robe over her head and discarded it–“And as I said, you may not peruse my body. Until after I get back, at the very least.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Sylvanas said and Jaina heard her clothes hit the ground. She wanted to take a peek but she figured it was too early for hypocrisy.

“I hope you are also looking forward to opening up your heart and your soul,” Jaina said and took off her necklace. “Sharing all your shame and all your pride”–she pulled off the rings from her fingers–“Your flaws and your strengths and so on. Or is it not how this is going to go?”

“Would that scare you?” Sylvanas asked her.

Jaina kicked off her boots and then dipped her toes in the water, careful not to look behind her. She stifled a moan when she sank in - there was something instantly gratifying about all of this so she made a mental note to take up the idea of a bathhouse in Dalaran with Antonidas. 

“No,” she said eventually. “Tit for tat, remember?”

“Close your eyes,” Sylvanas told her and she obeyed.

Sylvanas slipped into the spring to sit opposite from her, resting her arms on the rocks. They were just as defined as her torso, Jaina concluded with a sigh.

“This is probably my favourite place in Quel’Thalas,” Sylvanas said and hummed with her eyes closed and her head tipped back. “We have public bathhouses too but you need to cover up for that. I used to take Vereesa and Lirath out to the one at Windrunner Village every time our mother wanted to be alone and looking at them gave her a headache. Lirath liked chatting with other patrons and Vereesa had always been cold so I figured that sticking her in a pool of hot water would help with her circulation.”

“Now I know why she takes forever with her showers,” Jaina said.

Sylvanas laughed and said, “Sounds like her. I hope the Dalaran barracks offer unlimited hot water.”

“Of course. We have five mages whose sole job is to supply Vereesa’s shower,” Jaina said and gave her a toothy grin. “Would you like to hear about the time I accidentally had Tandred shipped off to Booty Bay and my mother had to send out a search party for him?”

“I would love that,” Sylvanas said and offered her a look so tender Jaina could sink into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to everyone who wanted that gossip mag!  
> This is officially the first monthiversary of EoSO, so I will be taking off an entire whole week and I will make an attempt at writing up some buffer and answer comments I haven't answered because 1) they were too cool 2) I didn't have enough jokes 3) liked them too much and I couldn't control my emotional reactions.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Sylvanas and Jaina get hot and heavy, figuratively and literally too; Anya finally gets fashion inspiration; Rhoneesa reunites; all the ships: sail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sike! I couldn't wait until Sunday. I have already built up all the buffer I wanted. Little heavier than usual. I hope you enjoy it anyway :)  
> I’d love to hear your opinions on this! Thank you!

“My mother had to pull him out of the captain’s cabin by his ear,” Jaina said and cupped her hands together. “To this day, he insists that he almost joined a pirate crew but he was only five at the time so I am a little dubious about that. Guess who had to spend her last summer in Boralus grounded? Not Tandred.”

“Confined to your quarters?”

“I wasn’t _imprisoned_ ,” Jaina said and shook her head. “I just wasn’t allowed to sail out with my father or go down to the pier. That’s the downside of having parents who pay attention to you – they are much more effective at discipline.”

Sylvanas gave her a smile and said, “I can’t imagine what punishment you would’ve got if he had actually reached Booty Bay.”

“Oh, I would’ve been disowned, I’m sure,” Jaina said and submerged her hands to ladle up some water, and then poured it over her hair. “Don’t give me that look. That isn’t a difficult or even a rare achievement in the House of Proudmoore. I had a great aunt who had been disowned simply because she was a gossip and no one liked her.”

“So, what did _you_ do?” Sylvanas said and rolled a pebble between her fingers. 

“Well, I merely exist.” Jaina laughed and then just dunked her head in the water, having got bored with the glacial pace of wetting her hair. After she resurfaced and blinked the water out of her eyes, she said, “Technically, I am not disowned but I’m also not considered an heir. Legally speaking.”

“So you have most of the privileges and none the responsibilities?” Sylvanas said with a cheeky grin. “A cushy position?”

“Absolutely, I got dealt a great hand,” Jaina said as she combed through her wet locks with her fingers. “I can even exercise all my privileges once or twice a year when my parents remember me.”

“You’re bitter,” Sylvanas noted, not unkindly.

“Somewhat,” Jaina admitted with a shrug. “If I never have to rule Boralus, I shall die a happy woman. I only wish that the whole thing wasn’t completely out of my control”–she slicked her hair back and out of her face–“When I started manifesting arcane sensitivity I had but two choices: the tidesages or the Kirin Tor. I suppose I could’ve also exploded into an arcane storm but that wasn’t appealing to twelve-year-old me.”

“You had all those sensible options and you chose Dalaran?” Sylvanas said and threw the pebble in the water. 

“I didn’t,” Jaina said. “My mother did. If that was up to me I would’ve stayed in Kul Tiras – closer to my family, my roots, everything I had known up to that point.”

“Do you resent her for that?” Sylvanas asked.

Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Jaina contemplated those words. 

_Do you resent her for that?_

It was such a deceptively simple question and yet she couldn’t come up with a simple answer. Her image of her mother was like a balance scale in her mind: Katherine’s flaws and Jaina’s grievances in one weighing pan, her virtues Jaina desperately wanted to emulate and all her love for her in the other one, always out of balance, never in equilibrium. 

She could recall Katherine’s face when they had seen her off to Dalaran like it was yesterday – her jaw set, her lips thinly pursed, and her arms folded over her chest like she had been guarding herself from Jaina’s ire or, perhaps, from the gravity of the situation. Daelin had been freely weeping for his little girl, his _heir,_ but not Katherine. She had only been a statue of steely determination and conviction. Jaina had wished for a few tears – any indication that the decision had been just as hard for her mother to make as it had been for her to take, but it had not arrived for years and even then it had been too little, too late.

With a sigh, she pulled herself back to the present and watched as Sylvanas slowly sank into the water. Jaina found herself smiling at her ears sticking out of the hot spring like two stalks of reed, sending small concentric waves through the surface. She then came back up and shook her hair out, raining droplets of water on Jaina. 

“Thank you kindly, I wasn’t wet enough,” Jaina drawled in the signature way Sylvanas would, which earned her a grin. Sylvanas has never looked less dignified and Jaina found that strangely endearing.

“I do resent her, I think,” Jaina answered after Sylvanas’ raised an eyebrow in question, “but I also respect her decision. In hindsight, she had the right idea but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t livid with her. Or that I don’t feel disconnected from her.”

“I am sorry,” Sylvanas offered together with a slight furrow of her brows. 

“I am not,” Jaina said and let herself shed a single, stubborn tear. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. “Well, not entirely. I am not sorry about Dalaran but I am sorry that I can’t get myself to reconcile with her. I don’t even have any excuse. I am just too proud.”

Sylvanas seemed to be deep in thought and Jaina granted them some well-earned silence. She stretched out her legs underwater and then moved to massage out her thigh muscles while gazing at Sylvanas’ rigid form, her neck taut and her jaw clenched.

“I believe…” Sylvanas said and then trailed off. Jaina waited for her to continue as she palmed her calves, exercising patience she rarely found in herself. “I believe I have similar feelings about Alleria.”

Sylvanas wasn’t looking at her, she was looking about a foot to the left, right at the trunk of the weeping willow behind Jaina. She was toying with the ends of her hair, light much like Vereesa’s but a richer blonde hue, as if she was mulling over the right words and the right sentences, and Jaina’s heart felt heavy in her chest like someone had replaced it with one of the stones in the pool. 

“I resent her,” Sylvanas said, “because she abandoned her post – no, abandoned _me_ when I needed her”–she let out a shaky breath and Jaina was almost ready for a few tears to come but they didn’t. Of course, they did not–“I’ve never dared say it like that. _Abandoned me_. What a selfish notion but I suppose that’s how I feel.”

“I don’t think that’s selfish. Or if it is, I find myself sympathetic,” Jaina said and her thoughts drifted to Derek. “You needed your sister and not some…Alliance hero.”

“Well, that’s just the root of the problem. We needed both and I cannot fault her for choosing the way she did,” Sylvanas said and then sighed. “I haven’t divulged this to anyone, not even Vereesa, but I had been offered a position on the Alliance Expeditionary Force, and I had every intention to take up on that offer. I wanted to go with her beyond the Dark Portal.”

“But you were the Ranger-General,” Jaina blurted out.

“Lor’themar has been ready to take on that mantle for ages,” Sylvanas said. “He had been long ready by then too. Nevertheless, Alleria forbade me from joining. She pulled rank on me”–a laugh tore out of Sylvanas at that–“House of Windrunner seniority, of all things.”

It was a weird and chilling knowledge that Sylvanas could’ve so easily been lost too, her fate forever unknown to Vereesa, that Jaina never would’ve met her either, but it was all the more chilling to realise that Sylvanas somewhere probably would’ve preferred that. Jaina wished that her intuition was lacking.

“Well, I for one thank the Tides she did,” Jaina muttered. “She saved you from a hero’s death, that’s what she did. Honourable as it may be, it is still only death.”

“You’re not wrong,” Sylvanas said and inclined her head, looking straight at Jaina, “and yet, the guilt lingers. Much like the smell of leather, as we have learnt today.”

Jaina snickered at that despite the lump in her throat, her heart still cumbersome but growing lighter by the moment.

“Was that enough vulnerability for you for today?” Jaina said and made sure to put as much obvious jest into her voice as possible to put Sylvanas at ease. “Should we manoeuvre ourselves back to the safe waters of banter and bickering?”

“Yes,” Sylvanas said and nodded, her face now only a mockery of solemnity. “I wish to pace things out, lest we run out of embarrassing topics in the next months.”

“Don’t worry,” Jaina said. “I have been collecting embarrassing stories all my life; it should be enough for the two of us. For example, the other day, I went to this gorgeous woman’s house with the genuine intention to seduce her and–”

Sylvanas huffed.

“Jaina,” she said, “You had seduced me. Long before yesterday. You didn’t even need your body for that.”

“I could say the same,” Jaina said and crawled closer to Sylvanas, careful not to reveal anything below her collar bones. “However, I would be lying if I said your _corporeality_ had no effect on the matter.”

Sylvanas shook her head, her lips curling into a smile.

“When we first met, you asked me how you held up to my idea of you,” Sylvanas said. “I didn’t have the faintest idea. All of my expectations were so far off from how you turned out to be.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“A good thing,” Sylvanas said and Jaina was thankful that she had turned down the opportunity to make a joke.

“Don’t tell me you’re infatuated with me,” Jaina said and rolled her eyes, well-aware of the blush creeping upwards from her chest.

Jaina watched as Sylvanas’ eyebrows twitched and drew close and for a moment worry caught hold of her. Maybe she had said too much, too soon.

“Don’t worry, I’m not saying that,” Sylvanas said with a scoff that made Jaina finally let go of the breath that had put up permanent residency in her lungs, burning them up, waiting to be released. “But I can say I’m somewhat struggling to play fair and it is a curious feeling.”

“You can be direct,” Jaina reminded her.

“I’d love to know a way to kiss you without perusing your body,” Sylvanas started then she paused, her gaze idling along Jaina’s face, “but I know how selfish that would be and how much of a hypocrite my longing makes me.”

“Well, perhaps today is the day I condone all your selfishness.” Jaina hummed and moved close enough to Sylvanas that she could count the droplets of water perching on her cheekbones if she wanted. “You know, if I stay in this modest position with water to my shoulders you shan’t see a thing.”

Jaina blew cold air on Sylvanas’ cheek, breaking the surface tension of all those drops of water, making them run down her face. Sylvanas’ eyes fluttered shut.

“You don’t play fair either.”

“Maybe so,” Jaina said, “but I shall only do what you want me to do. I’ll play by your rules – provided you do the same.”

Sylvanas’ raised her eyebrows.

“To avoid a repeat performance of yesterday, you may not touch me,” Jaina said. “Actually, put your hands on these stones here. Just to be sure.”

“You enjoy this a little too much,” Sylvanas said but did as she was told.

“Well, allow me to get at least a modicum of joy out of this.”

“Enlighten me, please. How shall I kiss you without touching you?” Sylvanas drawled. “Should I simply kiss the air around you as quel’dorei custom dictates? That’s not even a modicum of joy.”

“Oh, please, I clearly only meant your hands. You’re being obtuse on purpose. “Jaina laughed and then her smile melted off her lips at the look Sylvanas was giving her. She somehow managed to feel more naked than she already was. She couldn’t help her stutter. “May I... may I–”

“Yes.” 

Sylvanas leaned ahead as much as her position allowed and met Jaina halfway in a slow kiss that neither of them wanted to deepen too much, despite Jaina’s heart beating out of her chest in protest and Sylvanas’ fingers gripping the rocks with a vehemence that looked borderline painful. 

Jaina lost track of time or perhaps she had fallen out of time and space entirely, her body and mind numb to anything but their single point of connection. 

Her own moan tore her out of her flow when Sylvanas decided to bite down on her lower lip with brutally gentle precision. It was almost as if Sylvanas had taken a course on Jaina Proudmoore’s desires and had studiously read through the great book of “What Makes Jaina Lose Her Mind”, and that idea broke her skin out in goosebumps despite the embrace of the hot spring.

_So much for repeat performances._

Finally, Sylvanas broke the kiss and Jaina had to harvest all her self-restraint to not chase after her. 

“Thank you for the chat,” Sylvanas said, barely more than a sigh.

“Am I getting better at small talk?” Jaina whispered.

“It is a work in progress,” Sylvanas said and placed a peck on her lips. “You could always compliment me more.”

~~~

“I have seen this Modera woman out an about, a total of three times now.” Anya was chattering away excitedly at Sylvanas as they made their way down to the docks. “And she had worn six different robes! That’s five more than I’ve seen on any other mage. _Some_ humans do know how to dress.”

“Lucky you,” Sylvanas said. “Kael’thas paired you up to share a cabin. You can drill her all you want about Dalaran fashion in the next six weeks.”

“Oh, Belore,” Anya moaned. “That is just way too much style in one room.”

“I’m sure you shall manage,” Sylvanas said and greeted the pair of Modera and Antonidas with a shallow bow. “Archmagi, good morning to you. This is Ranger-Captain Anya, she shall be my extension on this mission. Please refer to her if you need anything from our troops.”

Anya bowed with significantly more flourish.

“Greetings, Archmage Modera, Archmage Antonidas. I hope you packed a lot of anti-seasickness potions,” Anya said. “It would be a shame about that robe.”

Anya promptly blushed the darkest shade of red Sylvanas had ever seen on a high elf but Modera just laughed at her.

“Darling, hardly anything could turn this stomach,” Modera said. “But thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. It is wild silk from Stranglethorn Vale and I won it in a drinking contest.”

Anya looked about ready to confess her undying admiration for Modera, so Sylvanas picked up the thread of conversation to spare her captain from further embarrassment.

“Did you end up finding a way to keep up a correspondence with the party?” she asked Antonidas. “You were at it until quite late with His Majesty.”

“Oh, but of course! Jaina came up with this quite neat two-way portal system and Modera fixed the minor flaws in the prototype,” Antonidas gushed. “Excellent work, just excellent. I should brief you on this.”

Sylvanas stifled her smile and said, “Please do. I have certainly never heard of such a thing.”

She ignored the look Modera gave her as she walked away with Anya who looked about ready to combust from excitement.

~~~

“Rhonin!” Vereesa yelled when she saw him walking up to the _Sungrace_ , balancing three telescopes under his arms, looking precariously close to toppling over. She ran up to him, and instead of pulling him into a hug as she wanted to, she performed a shoddy curtsy.

“Vereesa, hello!” Rhonin gave her a toothy grin, scrambled to free his arms from the telescopes and then mirrored her curtsy, equally disastrous in its execution. “You look ready for action.”

“Very much so! Maybe this time we can avoid bleeding out,” she said with as much cheerfulness she could force into her voice. 

“Or used as pawns by dragons,” Rhonin added and gathered up his telescopes. “Or almost eaten by dragons.”

Vereesa let out the heaviest breath of her life. Looking at Rhonin’s gentle face, taking in the obviously and readily offered understanding in his eyes, she could finally feel lighter.

“I am a little shaken up, you know,” she said and started walking up the planks with Rhonin following her. “I’ve had some dreams I would rather forget. I didn’t want to bother anyone with them but I think you get it.”

Rhonin dumped his luggage on a large coil of rope lying next to the cannons.

“I’m afraid I do. I have this recurring nightmare that I’m being chased by various members of the black dragonflight, they are spitting fire at me, I’m completely naked and I have no muscle definition. The last part is sadly true,” he said and then offered her his elbow. Vereesa took it with a thankful smile and let him lead her along the upper deck towards the wheel. When they passed the main-mast, Rhonin turned them towards the open sea. 

“When I heard of this mission,” he said, “I jumped on the opportunity. Do you know why?”

“Because you would get to team up with me again?” Vereesa said with a grin, pulling at his arm playfully.

“Nope,” Rhonin quipped but his smile said otherwise, “because there are very few aquatic orc cultists.”

“Thank you for the heads-up,” Vereesa said. “I thought there were none. Now I get to worry again.”

Rhonin laughed and smoothed his hair back – the oil he had evidently put on it glimmered in the sun –, a nervous tick of his, Vereesa assumed.

“I think this will be good for us,” Rhonin said and put his free hand up to shield his eyes from the morning sunlight. “I might even get a tan. The first one of my life.”

“No chance,” Vereesa said. “You look like you burn.”

“That’s what Deathwing said.” Rhonin wiggled his eyebrows at Vereesa.

“You’re so not funny,” she groaned and buried her face in her palm.

“I’m sorry,” Rhonin said, clearly not sorry. He let go of Vereesa’s arm and leaned over the railing to watch a school of slitherskin mackerel shimmer and flicker below the surface, feeding on the minnows that gathered around the ship.

“I wonder about Alexstrasza,” Vereesa whispered, still hesitant to say her name out loud as if there could be a Dragonmaw cultist lurking behind one of the cannons, ready to interrogate them at knifepoint for vital information she couldn’t offer. “I would be happy to know that she is all right and reunited with her…beloved. Or her consorts? I guess? I’m not even remotely sure how dragon relationships work.”

“Beats me. I don’t even know how human relationships work,” Rhonin said with a small shrug. “I, too, hope she contacts us one day, you know. When we parted, I told her to let us know if she needs help with anything else but I’m not sure she will take me up on that. I imagine she has better allies than the two of us.”

Vereesa hummed at that, an odd feeling of irrelevance permeating her at the idea that one of the most monumental events in her life was most likely just a passing second to Alexstrasza – while not inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, hardly significant in an aeons-long existence. She had to wonder if Jaina felt that way about her and Sylvanas too. It was an uncomfortable thought. Downright unwelcome.

“You know,” Vereesa said. “I’m glad I didn’t dump you in Hasic.”

“You could’ve done that. It should’ve been a simple escort mission,” Rhonin reminded her. “Why didn’t you?”

“You looked really puny and I felt bad for you,” Vereesa said with a laugh and Rhonin elbowed her in retaliation. 

“I don’t think I could’ve done this without you,” Rhonin said and invited a lull into their conversation. After a few serene minutes of the two of them listening to the waves crashing into the hull, he added, “Even if it wasn’t smooth sailing, I think seeing them fly away was worth the pain.”

Vereesa closed her eyes and, for a minute, allowed herself the luxury of a clear mind free of the entropy of her worries, fears and complexes – only the sun on her skin and the wind running through her hair, and the notion that Rhonin was right and she should be – perhaps – proud of herself.

~~~

She found Jaina on the pier, donning a loose white blouse suspiciously similar to one of the ten identical ones Sylvanas owned, her long hair whipping behind her in the strong breeze – out of her Kirin Tor robes, she looked seaborn: a sailor or a pirate, strangely out-of-place on land.

Sylvanas moved to stand beside her, and for a moment, she was content to watch over the bustle of small fishing boats arriving with their first catch, their wet hulls glinting in the rising morning light. She didn’t miss the sideways glance Jaina was giving her all along.

“Is that my shirt?” Sylvanas said eventually and turned towards her.

“Yes,” Jaina said. “I wondered when you’d notice that it’s missing but since you have about a hundred of these things, it could’ve been years.”

“Well, in any event, I shall not wrestle you to get it back,” Sylvanas said. “Not now, at least.”

“How gracious of you,” Jaina said. “Guardian of my dignity.”

Sylvanas smiled at her and then clasped her hands behind her back to guard her own dignity as well.

“I have just had the most enlightening conversation with Antonidas about your invention,” Sylvanas said. “I had to pretend that I’ve never heard of _Portable Portals_ , as he put it.”

“Were you a good actress?”

“Good enough for him,” Sylvanas said and it was only true. Modera hadn’t seemed convinced. “Now, I have an envelope for official correspondence and one for _very_ unofficial correspondence.”

“Oh, well,” Jaina said with a low laugh and turned seaward again. “For the sake of my sanity, I hope you shan’t ever mix them up.”

“I shall be circumspect.” Sylvanas’ gaze lingered on Jaina’s profile. “With the words I wish to write to you, there is no room for any carelessness.”

With a proud grin, she noted the minute darkening of Jaina’s cheeks.

“You make me almost wish I was already on high seas.”

Sylvanas wanted to tell her that she wished for nothing less but reined herself in. Instead, she reached out to run the back of her index finger along Jaina’s forearm, and said, “Thank you for these three days. I no longer regret answering your letter.”

“I find you tolerable as well,” Jaina said and raised her eyebrows.

“Before we part,” Sylvanas said and ignored Jaina’s little barb, “May I embrace you?”

“Embrace me? What shall the good people of Silvermoon say?” Jaina put her hand on her chest, a dramatic gesture that eerily reminded Sylvanas of Kael’thas and her eyes rolled on their own volition.

“You know I can’t be bothered with gossip,” Sylvanas said. “Otherwise I’d be bothered to death by now.”

“If so, then please do–”

Jaina couldn’t finish her sentence because Sylvanas pulled her in, hugging her close, her ceremonial armour defending her from Jaina’s body heat but not from the turmoil of feelings bubbling up in her. She put a lid on them, letting them simmer.

Jaina was less restrained as she murmured into her shoulder, her voice thick and muted, “So, this is farewell.”

“That’s too final to my taste,” Sylvanas said. “Let’s call it goodbye.”

“So long, Sylvanas,” Jaina said. “Don’t start a war.”

“You neither,” Sylvanas said. “Al diel shala, Jaina.”

“ _I believe I shall miss you_ ,” Jaina whispered in near-perfect Thalassian.

“Check the Envelope,” Sylvanas said. “Tonight.”

Jaina nodded and extricated herself from their embrace.

“Al diel shala, Sylvanas.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Jaina gets arrested by the fashion police, Modera seeks out all the hot singles onboard, Kael'thas atones for his sins by teaching Jaina valuable magical skills, Vereesa snores, Sylvanas experiments off-screen and Katherine is in everyone's thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back! Thank you for the lovely comments! If you've commented even just once, know that I remember and appreciate you. If you've never done that but enjoy this fic, consider leaving a comment like "more" or "cool" so that I can remember and appreciate you too! If you want to get verbose with me, hell, I won't stop you!

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Modera quipped as the _Sungrace_ left the harbour, leaving hundreds of Silvermoon citizens waving handkerchiefs and wailing after their beloved prince, and Jaina – distinctly remembering those pamphlets – assumed that at least some of those tears were of joy and relief. Sylvanas waved them off as well, although she had skipped out on the melodrama of a handkerchief. Jaina could see her figure shrinking into just a speck of bright gold amongst the multicolour crowd, and then into nothing when Quel’Thalas was merely a distant landmass.

“Very,” she agreed. “And a little scary too. I have a feeling this mission is going to give me whiplash.”

“I hear you,” Modera said. “Orcs, trolls, murlocs, whatnots? No complaints. Kat Proudmoore? _Some_ complaints.”

Jaina had to laugh at that. She would never forget her parents’ visit to Dalaran when Jaina was sixteen, how Katherine had arrived as if she had been assigned to supervise the Kirin Tor, first drilling Jaina’s instructors about her arcane skills in excruciating detail and then negotiating with Antonidas about her graduation behind close doors, as if Jaina hadn’t been the very subject of the whole matter. That in itself had been disconcerting. 

Her parents had wanted her to put her training on hold and travel back home to perform a betrothal ceremony with Brannon Stormsong, heir of House Stormsong, only eight-years-old at the time, to avoid the escalation of their internal conflict. They had insisted that it was merely a concern of ceremonialism but the idea had clenched Jaina’s stomach so hard she could’ve had vomited. She might’ve had done just that, now that she thought about it.

Antonidas had never been great at conflict management, so it had been Modera who had stepped up to remind them that Kirin Tor apprenticeship meant signing away their rights as legal guardians until Jaina was of age and her arcane powers stabilised. That had been a less than pleasant conversation that had left everyone with a bitter aftertaste. Things had been thrown and curses delivered, and all Jaina had been able to add was some well-performed dry heaving. 

Years later, her mother had apologised for that episode, citing political turmoil and desperation and a momentary loss of reason, and Jaina hadn’t wanted to argue about it so they had left it at that, as they had done so many times before. At the very least, Katherine had never tried to strong-arm her into a political marriage after that and Jaina supposed she was grateful for that.

“Tides, Modera, “ Jaina said with a sigh. “I am not looking forward to that.”

“I’m not either! I think your mother still wants to strangle me,” Modera said.

“She doesn’t...well, probably not,” Jaina murmured. “Please, try to keep it civil. At least until we have restocked.”

“I am _always_ civil,” Modera said and her huff told Jaina that she was a little offended, “but I’m protective of you”–the ship rocked, hard, and the loud gagging of Nathanos filled the minute silence–“You know I’ve never wanted kids. I still don’t want them. But, if I somehow managed to produce one now, at the tender age of _twenty-six_ , I’d like them to be like you.”

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” Jaina said and under all that sarcasm, she actually meant it. “You still shouldn’t deck my mother.”

“Oh, fine!” Modera laughed. “Only in the name of diplomacy. Even if Katherine has a face just as beautiful as it is punchable.”

“You haven’t met her in years,” Jaina reminded her. 

“She is less pretty now?”

“Less punchable.”

Their bickering was interrupted by Ranger-Captain Anya, red-faced from the sun or the heat, fetching a rather short yet imposing figure in her practical ranger armour. Jaina wondered for a moment if the Windrunner family was somehow unnaturally tall amongst the quel’dorei, as if someone had gone through all of them with a rolling pin, Sylvanas ending up taller than Jaina by one or two inches.

“Lady Proudmoore, Archmage Modera,” Anya greeted them and bowed. “May I interrupt your conversation? It shan’t be long.”

“Of course. Please, call me Jaina.”

“Indeed! Screw formality, love,” Modera said with a laugh. “I could probably be your great-granddaughter.”

Anya’s face grew even darker at that when she said, “Disturbing thought, I am going to ignore it.”

“Permission to ignore granted,” Modera said.

“Thank you.” Anya nodded and addressed Modera, “I would like to formally invite you to an academic debate about the cultural impact of corsets. It shall take place in my cabin – well, _our_ cabin, really – tonight”–another retching sound came from the general direction of Nathanos–“Wine and appetizers shall be served.”

“I’m going to presume I’m not invited,” Jaina murmured.

Anya looked over Jaina’s white shirt she had stolen from Sylvanas. She promptly drew her eyebrows together, clearly bothered by it, and said, “I am sorry, I don’t believe you are qualified.”

Jaina’s mouth fell open and she was left looking like a beached fish.

“I love a good debate,” Modera cut in. “Even more so – I love winning, so I’ll prepare the pro-corset side of it.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Anya said and bowed. “Until then.”

“What the hell was that?” Jaina said when Anya had already marched away.

“I believe,” Modera said, “that I have a hot date and you have no style. That reminds me – Kael’thas has been waving at us for five minutes.”

Jaina groaned and said, “We’d better talk to him.”

“Well, _you’d_ better,” Modera said. “I don’t want to. I am going to get this fine gentleman some potion for his stomach. ”

~~~

“Ah, Jaina, you look radiant this morning. Perhaps even more so than usual which I thought impossible.” Kael’thas beamed at her and then furrowed his brow for a second. “Wasn’t my favourite Archmage just with you?”

“She went to get Ranger Nathanos medicine for his seasickness,” Jaina offered.

“Typical Nathanos,” Kael’thas harrumphed. “He always has to be the centre of attention.”

Jaina opened her mouth to tell him that faking crippling nausea was most likely not Nathanos’ number one tool to get attention and that Kael’thas was projecting his own issues but she quickly reevaluated how much that jab was worth the repercussions. 

“Truly, I feel heart-wrenching pity for him,” Kael’thas continued. “It is painfully obvious that this entire ‘human ranger’ _thing_ of his is merely a cry for help.”

“On the topic of cries for help,” Jaina cut him off gently. “Did you need me for anything?”

“Yes, well, I needed Modera too but maybe the two of us shall be enough,” Kael’thas said and lifted a telescope to his eyes to look at a particularly non-threatening cloud formation. “I have noticed that the winds aren’t in our favour just yet.”

Jaina nodded and said, “If things remain the same we should expect to reach Kul Tiras just under a week. My estimation says six days.”

“Yes, well, I have a tiny problem with that,” Kael’thas said. “I have made a bet with my very best friend and your true love of body and so–”

“ _Sylvanas_ , yes, I know, please continue.”

“...that we shall arrive at your ancestral home in three days.”

“Three days?” Jaina yelped. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you shall lose that bet. I hope you didn’t wager anything too precious.”

“Maybe so, maybe so,” Kael’thas waved with a flourish. “A feasible loss doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try our best.”

“We?” Jaina sputtered. “You want me to _fly_ the ship all the way to Boralus?”

“That would be a bit too strenuous, even for a mage with such raw power as you have,” Kael’thas said. “But anyhow...How is your aeromancy?”

“Bad. I am a hydrosophist,” Jaina said and flattened her palm over the mizzen mast, leaning on it. She could feel the creaking, the push and pull of the ship, as its pieces strained against each other and the waves. “I haven’t studied aeromancy since I was fourteen. My knowledge is dated and my skills are unpracticed at best.”

“Excellent,” Kael’thas said and clapped as if Jaina had just announced that she was solely responsible for the Southern Wind. “This shall be a wonderful learning opportunity for you.”

At Jaina’s no-doubt nonplussed expression he added, “I wanted to apologise to you, my dear Jaina. In all the excitement of the last few days, I seem to have forgotten that you are here to learn, first and foremost, and not to assist me with all my fits of fancy.”

“Thank you kindly. This definitely doesn’t sound like one of those fits at all,” Jaina drawled and Kael’thas’ eyebrows shot up at that.

“Jaina, oh my,” he said with a grin. “Imitation truly is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Kael, _please_ ,” Jaina moaned.

“No talk about Sylvanas, I understand.” He put his hands up in defence. “So, are you up for a lesson now?”

Jaina briefly sifted through her daily agenda (reading books, waiting for Sylvanas to send her a letter, considering sending one herself, looking at fish, playing cards with Vereesa, looking at more fish), and concluded that she had about nothing more important to do. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt to her elbows and nodded at Kael’thas, whose smile was immediate and blinding. He pulled over two barrels with a flick of his hands and motioned for Jaina to sit down.

“As you know, aeromancy and hydrosophy go hand-in-hand,” Kael’thas explained as he gathered his bright blue, glittery robe up in his hands to sit down on the barrel without crumpling up the fabric too much. “Air is full of water and the opposite is also true, therefore, if you have trouble mastering one school, try mastering the other first and focus on the similarities instead of the differences.”

“We have always been taught to consider the magical currents,” Jaina said, “and how each school of magic had a distinct arcane signature, and that any other approach is just looking for loopholes.”

Kael’thas laughed at that and did a gesture that was somewhere between nodding and shaking his head.

“That sounds like Antonidas,” he said. “And he is correct of course, to a degree, but arcane signatures can change over time and that should be addressed as well. Like how yours changed just now.”

“I’m sorry?”

Kael’thas eyes lit up, full of mischief. He clearly got the reaction he wanted.

“You didn’t notice?” He cradled his chin with his fingers, looking like a very satisfied cat. 

“I haven’t done a whole lot of…” Jaina trailed off. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t practised much magic in Silvermoon. She should’ve had noticed it. “What is it like now?”

“Stronger, oddly,” Kael’thas said and hummed. “A little bubbly and _citrusy_ even.”

Jaina swallowed and nearly choked on her own saliva. _Bubbly and citrusy_. She had an inkling about that.

“Are we talking about my arcane signature or a mixed drink?”

“Sadly the former but I could use that drink. Maybe we can cajole Modera into making something nice for us?” Kael’thas chortled. “Do you know how it was before?”

“It was described as,” Jaina said, pulling up her memories of the group games they had played with her fellow apprentices, deep into the night, where they had covered their eyes, trying to tell who the other person had been by the taste and smell of their magic, “cold, like wrought iron or ice or the Northern Sea.”

“Bitingly cold,” Kael’thas agreed, “and bitter.”

“I got that from my mother,” Jaina said to take the edge of her feelings away a bit.

“Ah, what a woman she must be,” Kael’thas said with a wistful sigh. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“My mother is happily married,” Jaina blurted out and blushed pink, “and monogamous too. I think.”

Kael’thas tapped his chin deep in thought and then his eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry if that broke your heart but that’s very common for any place other than Quel’Thalas.”

“Not that,” Kael’thas said. “I’ve just remembered something that completely slipped my mind, and it would seem that I owe you another apology.”

“Kael’thas...what did you do?”

“You shall be mad at me,” he muttered and to his credit, he looked properly ashamed of whatever he had done. “Do you remember when I said that I had already retired my proposal for your hand?”

Cold dread sank into the pit of Jaina’s stomach.

“That was not an exaggeration?”

“It wasn’t,” Kael’thas moaned. “It is very possible, in fact, it is almost certain that I had sent your parents an official courtship proposal before you arrived in Silvermoon. I am genuinely so sorry.”

“You didn’t,” Jaina spat. “Why would you...what possessed you to do something so utterly _stupid_?”

“Protocol!” Kael’thas said and threw his hands up. “You are the daughter of the leader of Kul Tiras, I am the heir of Quel’Thalas, even if I don’t personally care for Daelin Proudmoore’s opinion, I still had to follow etiquette. Not that they have ever given me their answer, so clearly they don’t care that much about politeness, which is, frankly, quite rude.”

Jaina buried her face in her palms and exhaled all the air left in her lungs. An obnoxious little voice in her head told her that this was actually a joyous mistake, that at least this way she wouldn’t have to explain to her parents that her current object of affection and desire was not only an elf but a _woman_.

“Just...stop,” she said. “You did retire the proposal, right? You sent the letter?”

“Yes, yes, I did,” he said. “They should’ve received it already.”

Jaina nodded slowly for half a minute, collecting herself, then said, “That’s fine then. We shall tell them that we’ve amicably broken up and that should be the end of it.”

“You are taking this with surprising grace.”

“Hardly anything surprising about it,” Jaina said but had to agree with him. Her own reasons for being so calm – no, almost happy – ashamed her. “This is not something over which I’d lose a friend. Or a teacher.”

Kael’thas gave her a gentle, thankful smile and said, “Very well. Let’s put this behind us.”

“Now, tell me how we are going to propel this ship to previously unseen velocity,” Jaina said and moved to stand up. She shook her hands out to loosen up her joints up and then cracked her fingers which earned her a distasteful look from Kael’thas.

“Close your eyes and focus on the water particles in the air around you,” Kael’thas voice was coming from behind you. “Identify them, count them in your mind if that helps.”

“I cannot count that far,” Jaina joked but followed his instructions, reaching out for the raw energy in the air with her mind, letting it run around and through her. She could almost see it: the humidity in the air was like a river, undulating with every infinitesimal change in wind direction or strength. “I got it. I got it under my fingers.”

“Good,” Kael’thas said. “Now expand your control.”

Jaina slowed down her breathing until she couldn’t hear her pulse in her ears anymore, and then she curled her fingers inward, pulling in the air around her. Gradually, everything got muted down to a low rumble. The chattering of the crew, Kael’thas’ voice, the sound of the wind, and the crashing of waves were all a one-tone murmur to her. 

Jaina opened her eyes to a windstorm around her, spinning barrels up thirty feet in the air. She snapped her fingers open, letting go of the spell.

“My cabbages!” Kael’thas wailed as he levitated the barrels gently to the deck. “You nearly threw them in the ocean!” 

Jaina couldn’t help the laugh bursting out of her, airy and strained, as she tried to get out the words, “Why do you have…”–she gulped down her breaths too fast and ended up coughing–“barrels of pickled cabbage on the main deck?”

“I also have them on the second and third deck,” he said. “I may have accidentally brought a hundred barrels and we may have run out of storage space.”

“I have nothing to say to that.”

“Well, I have a lot of feelings about scurvy,” Kael’thas said and patted his barrel lovingly. “In any case, well done. Keep practising and we can try the sails in a few hours.” 

  
  


~~~

  
  


_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_As I am writing this letter, you are sound asleep in my bed and I am decidedly not sleeping on the living room couch (that should be a given). If my handwriting is lacking, please accept my most sincere apologies. I wished to write at the kitchen table but the fireplace went cold and I do not enjoy slowly freezing from the outside-in. Vereesa hadn’t replaced the firewood this morning and I am too tired to walk all the way to the shed._

_Therefore, the only logical thing left to do was to bundle up with a few blankets and to compose this with a tome as my writing board. Should you wish to know, it is titled_ How to Meditate in a Hurricane _and I have no clue to whom it once belonged, as none of my siblings had been great practitioners of serenity. I shall read it and give you helpful pointers, for you shall spend the next six weeks in the hurricane of Kael’thas and Modera and that alone requires all the patience this world has to offer. My condolences._

_I would like to express how much I do not mind losing sleep over this letter. I knew it with utmost certainty that I would not sleep even if I had my own bed, should I have shared it with you, for my mind and body are treacherous creatures who long for an intimacy I am yet to express with my words. Not accurately, at least._

_I wish to kiss you?_

_I am attracted to you?_

_Do I possess the vocabulary of some adolescent boy? Fumbling around my fascination for you with what feels like useless, inadequate phrases? Six weeks might just be enough time to find my eloquence._

_Until then:_

_I find you alluring, Jaina Proudmoore._

_So much so, that you are slowly shaping up to be my greatest challenge in restraint so far. Congratulations, may you find gratification in my suffering._

_Even if my glossary is incomplete, I have made a valiant effort with my self-expression, and I hope you are in accord with me – rarely have I ever opened up the way I did at the spring, and surely never to a woman whose correspondence I have shared only for a few weeks. I cannot discern if my newfound honesty is wholly attributed to your presence in my life or if I myself am growing more willing to face my ailments, and I would have reached the same road on my own as well. In any event, I travel lighter with you._

_If your departure isn’t otherwise delayed, you should well be on open seas when my letter finds you. I wonder how we bade each other goodbye – was I sentimental, Jaina? Awkward? Did I in any way betray my position? Did I lay a kiss on your lips right there and then, everyone else be damned? Was it searing, was it consuming? Did it leave you wanting the way I am left wanting tonight?_

_Right now, after our talk, I am almost positive I did all that and more. May sleep give me clarity and control._

_I wish you a successful journey and a safe return from Kalimdor._

_Do wish me the same from the high I am about to submit myself to._

  
  


_Yours,_

_Sylvanas_

  
  


Jaina looked over to Vereesa’s sleeping form – she was rolled up in three blankets like an overgrown, fat caterpillar in a chrysalis, snoring at a volume that would’ve put dragons to shame. That was preferred now because the groan that tore out of Jaina at Sylvanas’ last line was anything but subtle. She noted with some relief that Vereesa probably could’ve slept through a naval battle without so much as a nightmare ailing her.

_Do wish me the same from the high I am about to submit myself to._

There was really only two ways to interpret that line and Jaina decided to go with the one without hallucinogens. Sylvanas had _experimented_ right there, in the living room, while she had been sleeping. The immediate reaction of her body to that idea – her face burning and her fingers twitching strong enough to break the fine paper – made her want to teleport Vereesa straight onto the upper deck for additional privacy. To think she was properly happy about their stop in Tiragarde Sound being less than a week away was ludicrous, and yet here she was, longing for the lockable door of her old bedroom.

She skimmed Sylvanas’ letter, again and again, her eyes getting caught on different words and sentences.

_My mind and body are treacherous creatures who long for an intimacy I am yet to express with my words._

She could certainly relate to _that_ , especially now, with her mind threatening to commit high treason on her, pulling up images of Sylvanas Windrunner slowly taking off her ceremonial–

No.

She had no way to follow through, not with Vereesa a few feet from her. She needed to find that stony Kul Tiran perseverance to survive this.

_In any event, I travel lighter with you._

That was a way better sentence to get enamoured with, Jaina figured. Her lips curled into a smile, light at first and then soon came a full, toothy grin to accompany the blush already on her cheeks, as the events of last night coursed through her yet again – her memories sharp, the sensations still almost tangible. Sylvanas’ lips between her lips, the water fizzling between her fingers, the breeze shaking the willow. _Sylvanas’ lips._

Their chat in the hot spring felt like a breakthrough. Sylvanas had wanted to unite their minds before their bodies and Jaina had to admit that she had been right – she did end up with an understanding more profound that only left her with a powerful need to unravel more of the mess that was Sylvanas Windrunner, to find her frayed ends, to pull on them until the tangle comes undone. Jaina would’ve called that “scientific curiosity” only a few days ago. It should’ve scared her that the Jaina of today was more than willing to stay for the aftermath. 

It didn’t.

She only hoped the feeling was mutual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter for Sunday so that if I accidentally update it on Thursday it can be a cool surprise.  
> Oh yeah, I totally stole the name "hydrosophy" from Divinity: Original Sin. I sadly don’t like this game anymore but such is life and replaying things and critical thinking and whatnot.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Sylvanas gets reminded of her job, Jaina has an arcane trip without any drugs, Modera is suspiciously absent all day, Vereesa thinks ranger boots are couture, Kael'thas thinks teambuilding is in order, and tender feelings fly in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you for the outpouring of love for this story, you guys are super cool!  
> This is a mega surprise of a Wednesday Update. I don't think I've ever updated on a Wednesday. Wish me luck.  
> Tiny filler because next chapter we hit Kul Tiras!
> 
> Yes, Dalaran Snaps is magic canasta, only the best card game to play until 3 am.

“Lor’themar,” Sylvanas said and looked up from her reports scattered across her writing-table in her office at Sunfury Spire. The afternoon sun drew long beams of light across her small room, illuminating the walls and her shelves full of files and books with an orange glow. “You look like you’ve been skipping out on sleep.”

“I have,” he admitted with a sigh and sat down in the armchair opposite from Sylvanas without waiting for an invitation. He looked weary; his hair had lost its sheen and his normally handsome and sun-kissed face was gaunt and pale, and not even his golden armour could reflect enough light to make him shine. “We had a major incident last night. Two granaries raided and emptied, just south of the Farstrider Enclave.”

“Seriously?” Sylvanas’ jaw clenched despite herself so she lifted a scroll to her face to hide it. “How do we let these things happen, Lor?”

“Our patrols were ambushed and they were heavily outnumbered,” he offered, his voice grave but steady.

“Casualties?”

“Only the wheat, thankfully,” he said. “The trolls let our people run, didn’t even take hostages.”

Sylvanas dropped the scroll and ran her fingers through her hair. She wanted to blow up at Lor’themar but chose to count down from ten instead, suppressing her boiling anger until it was but a gentle simmer. 

The Amani raiding their storehouses in the middle of the summer meant that they were expecting a very lean winter, even if Quel’Thalas was rarely hit with freezing cold. That was something they could use to their advantage, but for the time being, she was more than happy to drag out the ceasefire as long as she could. Preferably forever.

“Double the patrols, show them our numbers,” she said, “and please, for the love of Belore, guard those granaries better. I don’t want to import wheat from Westfall, you know how our king hates it when I dip into the royal budget on grounds of incompetence.”

“Will do, General,” he said and cleared his throat. “I should tell you that the farmers are less than pleased with our... _contribution_. Or lack thereof.”

“As expected,” Sylvanas said. “Please allocate money for compensation. The last thing we want is an uprising right at our borders. That’s all.”

Lor’themar nodded and stood to salute her. Sylvanas mirrored him and as he turned to leave, she said, “Lor?”

“Yes, General?”

“You have handled much worse. I trust you to take care of this.”

Lor’themar gave her a tired smile and a small nod and left her office. Sylvanas collapsed into her armchair and let a loud groan tear out of her when Lor’themar clicked the door shut behind him. The chance to gloat at Jaina and Kael’thas about her right assessment of her own importance as a military leader left her with no excitement or gratification. The conflict with the Amani was exactly the issue she would choose to be wrong about if she was given a choice. She absentmindedly patted the inside pocket of her overcoat, feeling out the Envelope of Suspect Origin, as she had done every hour or so since morning. Jaina was taking her sweet time with her reply and Sylvanas couldn’t fault her – if she knew anything about Kael’thas, she was sure he was keeping Jaina plenty busy. He was probably in the middle of convincing Jaina to polymorph all the cannons into sheep and then get Nathanos to shepherd them back into place.

Her hand stilled over her heart.

Jaina replied.

Sylvanas scrambled to get up, knocking her chair over with a loud thud, and then marched to her door to lock it.

Whatever Jaina wrote to her, she wanted to take it in from the comfort of her couch, having eliminated every and any source of possible distraction.

  
  


_Dear Sylvanas,_

  
  


_How do you find the knowledge that I read your letter and I wanted nothing more than to join you at that zenith you had hopefully reached?_

_Does that make you happy? Satisfied? Smug?_

_I assume it has to be one of those things because there was great deliberation in your wording, for all that talk of flawed eloquence, and I can just imagine you picking out the best phrases and sentences to hit me with longing unbearable. You are not so slick._

_Nevertheless, you have succeeded._

_Yet, I am separated from that moment both in time and space, and the disconnection hurts, Sylvanas, almost physically, and I find myself unable to solve any of my problems: our distance and my lack of research opportunities, for I am stuck in a cabin with your sister who, by the way, snores like she once inhaled a beehive and never quite let them go._

_I needed a change of air so I walked up to the main deck to look at the waves, the constellations, the sparse clouds swimming past the moons, and I wish I could say I have found that clarity and control you talked about but I have not._

_Dire my state might be, don’t you worry about me, for I have been called an imaginative sort, and I am sure I can entertain myself with only your idea._

_You could be kind and tell me about your scientific approach – are you purely empirical, going after your own conclusions or do you tend to rely on external data?_

_Do you prefer a field trip or an in-depth study?_

_Now that I have ridden myself of all the euphemisms with which I could come up and I feel properly bold to address more serious topics, I would prefer to steer this letter back to what made my heart forget to beat – the road you are on and my role as your travel companion._

_I have to admit that you were right just about everything. Despite my great suffering at your hands, somewhere deep down, under all that indignance that shrinks with every passing day, I am glad that I did not give you everything I could offer before I could truly offer up everything – my mind and my soul to accompany this body. Not to say that I am firmly falling for you but you do have a certain gravity and I am currently not fighting it. It would be kind of you to catch me before I crash._

_I do think this all might taste sweeter if we were to spice it with the complex horror of unveiling ourselves and all the flaws we would rather hide forever. As it turns out, I do wish to know inconsequential things about you. I can see the humour in this, of course, after all, I was the one who mocked you about your favourite colour and the name of your hawkstrider._

_What is your favourite colour? Is it white because that is all you tend to wear aside from your ceremonial armour?_

_What was the name of your first hawkstrider? Was it something utterly ridiculous? Did you name them Dath’Remar Sunstrider perhaps?_

_I wish to ask you these weightless questions and I wish you wanted to do the same._

_So, ask away._

  
  


_Love,_

_Jaina_

  
  


_Dath’Remar Sunstrider?_

Sylvanas had to laugh at that, wistful and a little bittersweet, and then she moved to lie down on the couch, her feet dangling off the armrest, her hair spilling off the cushions, already looking for options to become a tangled mess but Sylvanas couldn’t be bothered.

She had to commend Jaina – this was easily the bravest letter of affection she had ever received in her nearly three thousand years, and that both spoke volumes of the sincerity of her previous liaisons and Jaina’s daringness. If Jaina meant her words, if truth rang from each of her sentences, if they shared context and understanding, then they were walking the same road side-by-side. 

Sylvanas felt positively lightheaded.

~~~

  
  


“With our current speed we can make it in five days,” Jaina shouted to Kael’thas as she threw another gust of wind at the sails, making them almost split along the seams.

“Not good enough!” Kael’thas yelled back, his voice barely registering to Jaina, the whirlwind he was whipping up drowning everything out. “Anything over four days hurts my pride!”

“You should’ve thought of that before you agreed to that bet!”

“What did you say?”

“I said you should have–”

“I can’t hear you, Jaina! Let’s work harder so we can reach port in four days!”

Jaina threw up her hands in frustration and interrupted the spell, waving at Kael’thas to match her. He dropped his spell with an audible huff of annoyance. At least they agreed on that, Jaina figured.

“This isn’t working the way you want it to work,” Jaina said. “We are just burning our mana and if we keep this up, one of us is going to pass out.”

“Fine.” Kael’thas threw himself on a barrel and unbuttoned the blue and white striped vest that he wore instead of a shirt, letting it hang off him like the wings of a strange bird. He looked exhausted with perspiration pearling all around his sunbaked shoulders. “I am not exactly a nautical mastermind so I am graciously allowing you to take the lead on this.”

“Thank you kindly,” Jaina said and brushed her hair out of her face. “I need some time to think.”

She sat down on the wooden deck, not bothering with a barrel, crossing her legs and straightening her back, and then closed her eyes. She willed the background noise to fade into nothing around her as she focused on her breathing and her pulse beating against the sides of her neck, its rhythm a well-known song. 

It took her longer than usual to calm her mind down into a dream-like state, where her thoughts appeared and disappeared like bursting stars, melting together into new patterns. She remembered being thirteen, visiting Boralus for the first time since she had been made apprentice, and trying to explain to her mother how her personal style of arcane meditation felt like dripping candle wax on paper until there was a half-formed concept she could put a seal in. 

She looked at the wax seal and then at the letter paper, yellow and fine and dry under her fingers, and then her eyes drifted right up to the black of the ink. The letters swirled until they wrote out six words:

_How to Meditate in a Hurricane_

Sylvanas. 

A myriad of water droplets on Sylvanas’ face, reflecting light in every direction, and then Jaina breaking the tension holding them together, dragging the drops down Sylvanas’ cheeks with her fingers, slow like molasses and–

_Drag._

“I have an idea,” Jaina announced and opened her eyes. “Drag.”

“Oh, I love that,” Kael’thas said, “but I am quite sure we are not thinking the same thing.”

“Water resistance,” Jaina said and blinked repeatedly to adjust to the blinding sunlight. “We are slow because of the friction so why don’t we try reducing it?”

“So you _do_ want to fly the ship, after all?”

“Not flying it, exactly,” Jaina said, “but if we could combine aeromancy and hydrosophy to form a bubble around a ship–”

“Without water or air!” Kael’thas cut her off and jumped to his feet.

“A kind of void, yes,” she said. “Do you think it could work?”

“Theoretically?” He started snapping his fingers and walking in a circle, humming to himself. “Maybe.”

“Our collective magic is probably not enough for that,” Jaina said.

“Well, yes, but we have Modera too. Somewhere. Where _is_ she anyway?” Kael’thas moaned. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

“I think she’s sleeping in,” Jaina offered, pleased that the sunburn on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose effectively hid her blush.

“Well, she better wake up for my _soiree,_ ” he huffed. “Eight o’clock at my cabin. Formal attire required. We shall have our spirits lifted with _spirits_.”

“This is only our second day,” Jaina reminded him and Kael’thas only shrugged.

“Would you be a darling, Jaina, and tell the others?” He buttoned back his vest and smoothed down the fabric with a dramatic sigh. “That includes Nathanos too, I’m afraid. Just make sure you introduce him to a hairbrush and some oil.”

~~~

Vereesa looked at herself in the body-length mirror illusion Jaina had been kind enough to cast for her, at her silver dress gown and her wooden sole sandals that were the height of Silvermoon fashion, and she felt terribly underdressed. After a few seconds of pouting, she threw on her quiver, kicked off her sandals and put on her ranger boots, and finally, she grabbed her bow.

Now, that was cute _and_ practical.

“How do I look?” She turned to glance at Rhonin sitting on her bed, trying to tie a bow on the lavender ribbon around his neck. Vereesa thought that he looked charmingly human in his white shirt and Kirin Tor purple dress pants and neat ponytail, like some Gilnean gentleman ready to bet on horses and lose his life’s savings. 

“You look like you’re expecting a bar fight,” Rhonin said and smiled at her.

“That’s the point,” Vereesa said. “This is a Kael’thas party. Anything goes.”

Vereesa walked over him and fixed his tie with a few practised movements.

“I used to do this a lot for my little brother,” she offered when Rhonin looked at her with a raised eyebrow. 

Rhonin face fell at that so Vereesa quickly added, “Not that you remind me of him! He was much taller than you. Not that you are too short! You are perfectly average for a human!”

Vereesa had to wonder how she managed to drive this conversation in that direction with her babbling and she could already feel a blush overtaking her cheeks.

“Vereesa,” Rhonin said and took her free hand in his, and Vereesa noted how calloused his palms were, no doubt from years of wielding a staff and throwing around fire spells. “You’re all right. Would you like to talk about him?”

She did. Not now and not with Rhonin. She wanted an unhinged, drunken moment with Sylvanas on their living room couch, crying hysterically like she had not allowed herself to do so in years, letting go of that inclusion of grief that sat deep inside her, ingrained into her very soul, that she couldn’t get rid of on her own. If only she could articulate all that.

“Not...really,” Vereesa said eventually and pulled him up from the bed. “I’d rather see what pain Kael’thas wants to put us through.”

They met the others in front of the captain’s cabin, everyone – even Nathanos – was dressed appropriately for a wedding or a more-cheerful-than-usual funeral, idling around on the quarterdeck that led to Kael’thas’ door, talking in unexpected pairs (Modera and Anya? Really? What did _they_ have in common?). Seemingly no one had wanted to be the first person entering the peacock’s den and Vereesa could hardly blame them. 

“Ranger instincts,” Nathanos said and waved his own bow at her and Vereesa grinned at him.

“Always prepared!” they said at the same time and Vereesa didn’t miss the sideway glance Rhonin gave her.

~~~

Jaina had to cough into her fist to hide her snort at that display. Armed with the power of both hindsight and emotional distance, she was finally able to find the humour in Vereesa having an obviously enamoured man looking at her like she had hung the moons and staying blissfully oblivious to it all. She speculated that she must’ve had looked the same, a little desperate and a little dumbfounded, hanging off of Vereesa’s every word. She had sympathy for Rhonin Redhair.

Kael’thas interrupted her thought process by bursting his doors open with a dramatic wind spell and blinking himself out to the threshold in all his royal glory, donning an iridescent orange dress robe full of frills, that managed to hurt Jaina’s eyes even in the low moonlight.

“Welcome, welcome,” Kael’thas gushed. “I am so very pleased that you could all make it.”

“It isn’t like we had previous engagements,” Modera quipped and adjusted her glasses.

“Amusing, coming from you.” Kael’thas rolled his eyes and then ushered everyone inside his spacious cabin.

Jaina couldn’t decide what she considered more unsettling: the hopelessly sad violin music coming from a phonograph or the five or so dozen rosemary-scented candles taking over the entire room, providing what was Kael’thas’ idea of mood lighting. 

To her surprise, the captain’s cabin wasn’t much different from what Jaina was used to with Kul Tiran vessels, the wooden furniture was practical and elegant, and the large windows presented Jaina with a tremendous view of the ocean. It reflected none of the extravagances of Quel’Thalas – it was almost austere and it reminded her of Sylvanas’ own room back at the Spire. For the second time in two days, she found herself jealous of Kael’thas’ private cabin.

“You have a very nice room,” Vereesa said, breaking the silence. “Very spacious. Are we going to...dance?”

“This music makes me cry,” Rhonin said and he looked quite sour about it.

“Canapés?” Kael’thas pushed a tray in Jaina’s hands and she reluctantly took it and then passed it down to Vereesa who put it back on the table.

“Is this just fermented cabbage on...rye?” Nathanos said and took an appetizer, holding it up to eye level. 

“The ship has an encumbrance issue,” Kael’thas said and put three more canapés in Nathanos palms, “called cabbage. Be a part of the solution, Nathanos.”

Kael’thas went around passing out glasses and then procured a pitcher from the table.

“Fermented melon juice, anyone?” He poured some in Anya’s glass who looked at him, impassive, her back ramrod straight. “Don’t worry, darling, it is nothing to lose our minds over. _Barely_ fermented.” 

Jaina organised her face into a polite smile, a rather difficult task as everyone else looked either mildly uncomfortable (Rhonin), baffled (Vereesa) or just plain annoyed (Modera).

“I thought we could all sit down,” Kael’thas said, motioning at the large negotiation table, “and discuss my qualities as mission leader. I accept constructive criticism.”

“You’re neither funny nor charming,” Modera said. “Give us a real _Sunstrider Soiree_ or I’m going back to sleep.”

“ _Sleep_ ,” Anya muttered.

Kael’thas awarded them with a deep, hearty laugh and then snapped his fingers, making two barrels levitate to the centre of the room. He kicked a barrel over and made it roll all the way to Nathanos who stopped it with his foot.

“I don’t think I can eat more cabbage,” Nathanos said weakly and swallowed down his last bite.

“‘Tis ale!” Kael’thas yelled out and rushed over to the phonograph to change the song to a sea shanty, “You have been fooled! I don’t actually accept constructive criticism.”

Anya and Nathanos cheered at that and to Jaina, it all seemed like the last seconds before disaster.

~~~

“There are five suits: red, green, black, bronze and blue, like the dragonflights,” Modera explained as she shuffled the deck, so fast that Jaina’s eyes went out of focus, “and each suit has six cards. Peasant, Squire, Archer, Knight, Queen and King, in that order.”

Rhonin and Nathanos stopped their attempt at line dancing to sit with them at the table. Rhonin’s hair had slipped out of his tie hours ago and Nathanos’ hair oil had given up too, and they both looked like they had spent the last ten minutes running uphill, red-faced and sweaty.

“Unless our reigning monarch is a queen,” Vereesa chimed in and took half the deck from Modera, “because then the Queen is the highest value card.”

“I am...the highest value monarch...card,” Kael’thas slurred from the floor and Jaina conjured up a waterskin for him, which he took after saluting Jaina with both hands at the same time.

Modera nodded at Vereesa, completely ignoring Kael’thas’ unintelligible murmurs, and said, “We also have five wild cards in a deck that can substitute any other card.”

“We play Dalaran Snaps with a double deck so that's ten wild cards total,” Vereesa added and performed a masterful riffle shuffle. Rhonin let out an appreciative whistle. “We play in teams of two and the goal is to make a meld of six cards from the same suit, ranked by order of value, which is called a _snap_.”

“Hence the name,” Modera said.

“The teammates have to create their melds together,” Jaina said and when she noticed the meaningful looks Rhonin was sending Vereesa’s way, she continued, “but they are not allowed to communicate in _any manner_.”

“I didn’t register any of this,” Anya announced and downed her whole mug of ale. “I am going to raid His Majesty’s wardrobe.”

“I object,” Kael’thas moaned. “I am… an object? Am I?”

Nathanos pulled at his beard, clearly chagrined, and then said, “Perhaps Your Majesty should retire for the night.”

“I shall never retire!” Kael’thas tried to get up on his knees and fell over. “Not as long as this fire burns in me!”

“All right, we are taking him to bed,” Anya said with a sigh and threw a mustard yellow kilt back into Kael’thas’ dresser. She motioned to Nathanos to grab Kael’thas by the shoulders and she lifted his legs, dragging him towards his sleeping chamber.

“Are you not going to play with us?” Modera called after them.

“No,” came Anya’s muffled voice, “I’ll just watch you obliterate everyone else.”

“As if,” Vereesa said with a chuckle and started dealing out the cards. “Jaina and I will rule this table. Loser has to nurse Kael’thas back to health tomorrow.”

“I’m with Modera,” Jaina said and tried to make her smile as apologetic as possible. “Sorry, Vereesa, but I play to win and that’s whichever team you aren’t on.”

“That hurts,” Vereesa said but her laugh betrayed her. “But you know what they say: lucky at cards, unlucky in love.”

Jaina lifted her hand, stared at it for a moment, and said, “I don’t think that applies to me. I might just be lucky at both.”

“Ooh, big words,” Vereesa said and wiggled her eyebrows in a way so skilful that it put Rhonin to shame. “Let’s bring it on, then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I possibly update on Sunday too? I don't know!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> The Kul Tiras sequence starts, Vereesa actively struggles with her sexuality, Jaina doesn't struggle at all with her own, Kael'thas' pride is in shambles, Rhonin gets the best friend award, Nathanos gets the worst wingman award.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) Thank you so much for your comments and your support! Let me know what you think about this chapter! I really hope you will enjoy it :)

Vereesa’s loud and unmistakable yelp woke Jaina from her shallow slumber she had only drifted into half an hour ago. She threw off her covers and stalked straight up to the cabin door, drew a few runes with her hands and then opened it, revealing a very frazzled-looking Vereesa.

“Belore!” Vereesa moaned, massaging her hand. “Did you put wards on the door?”

“Yes, I did,” Jaina ground out, “because _someone_ broke into our room in the middle of the night to leave you a heap of junk and somehow no one noticed it.”

“What.” Vereesa ambled into the cabin with the elegance of a newborn fawn, nearly tripping over her own feet. “What the–”

“It is safe,” Jaina said and rubbed some of the leftover sleep from her eyes, “or at least I believe it is. I couldn’t exactly ask Kael’thas, Modera or even _Rhonin_ to confirm it for me. If I didn’t know better I’d think Kael is sabotaging the mission on purpose.”

“I slept in Rhonin’s bed,” Vereesa blurted out.

“Vereesa”–Jaina sighed–“I don’t think I need to know intimate details about your night. I can probably figure things out from context.”

“We didn’t do anything...he slept with Nathanos.” Vereesa sat down on Jaina’s unmade cot.

“I am a bit confused about that,” Jaina offered and lifted one of three tiaras from the pile of knickknacks lying on Vereesa’s bed. She spun it in her hands, weighing it. “Maybe I do need details?”

“They slept in the same bed so I wouldn’t have to share with either of them,” Vereesa explained and then bundled herself up in Jaina’s blankets, clearly having no concern for private space. “They were such gentlemen, hugging each other like two bananas…”

“Are you still drunk?”

“So much,” Vereesa whispered from Jaina’s pillow. “This is not my bed.”

“No, yours is the one about to collapse under the weight of this all,” Jaina said and put the tiara back. “Your _admirer_ left a note too.”

Vereesa snapped her head up, “A note? For me?”

Jaina lifted the small envelope and waved it in front of Vereesa’s face, which earned her a groan full of complaint.

“I’m too woozy to read it,” Vereesa moaned and dropped her head back down. “Please?”

Jaina rolled her eyes to stress how much a nuisance this was to her, but truthfully, she was almost brimming with excitement, having waited nearly two hours for Vereesa to finally arrive. She cut the envelope open with a quick spell, worried she would damage the contents if she used her hands. She unfolded a letter – a single page, and skimmed it with her eyes. She had only one guess: _Alexstrasza._

 _“Beloved Vereesa Windrunner,”_ she read it out loud and stopped, “What the Tides is this? When I said you had an admirer I was mostly joking.”

“Just...continue please.” Vereesa rolled on her back, urging Jaina on by nodding at her fervently.

 _“I have heard the news of your newest calling, a rather noble one, from what my limited understanding of your mortal affairs tells me.”_ Jaina stared at Vereesa blankly, who stared back at her in a similar fashion, blinking at her. _“All life is most precious to me and your people are not exempt from my love. I have admiration for you and your quest as well.”_

Vereesa jolted up to a sitting position at that, her eyes widened comically, and said, “Is that a singular or a plural ‘you’?”

“I do not know,” Jaina said. “Common isn’t the best language for nuance.”

“Why didn’t she pick Thalassian?” 

_“She?_ Are you branching out?” Jaina attempted to tease Vereesa a little but she firmly ignored her.

“Nevermind, please continue.”

Jaina raised her eyebrows at her but did so, _“I have learnt a lot from you and I decided to continue my studies.”_

“Definitely singular ‘you’,” Vereesa interjected and she didn’t try to hide her triumph.

 _“I am now spending my time in a city called Gadgetzan trying to learn all I have missed out on. For example, I have only now been introduced to the concepts of loan, capital and interest.”_ Jaina had to stop at that because an undignified laugh was threatening her at the idea of Alexstrasza, dragon aspect, learning finance from goblins. _“Previously, I thought my debt to you cannot ever be repaid but now I believe I can at least try to repay you in instalments.”_

Jaina looked up at Vereesa and added, “Are you extorting Alexstrasza?”

“Yes, I have great business acumen and a deathwish, Jaina,” Vereesa scoffed. “I am ready to die for jewellery.”

 _“As I have no way of knowing what you enjoy, I assembled a small collection of relics I have found during my travels in the last few days.”_ Jaina snorted and said, “Small collection. I would find that funny if I didn’t have to spend an entire hour analysing the arcane signatures of each piece of your _small collection_.”

“Is there any more? A return address? Or is it just ‘Alexstrasza, Gadgetzan, tavern on the main street’?”

“No, it is actually ‘Alexstrasza, Gadgetzan, inn on the first street to the left’,” Jaina drawled.

_“Really?”_

Jaina laughed at her and handed her the letter that only had a sign-off saying “I wish you all the best on your journey – A”. Vereesa read it, turned the paper over and then upside-down and let out the loudest, saddest sigh. She then put the letter on Jaina’s nightstand, rolled herself in the blankets yet again, and turned to face the wall.

“What’s with you?” Jaina sat down next to her and patted her on what Jaina assumed to be her hips. 

Vereesa mumbled something unintelligible and then looked back Jaina to say, “It is...silly. Stupid, even.”

Jaina rubbed circles onto Vereesa’s back to encourage her and, expectedly, Vereesa continued, “I was really excited about that note. But now?”–she huffed–“I just can’t believe I have to teach a dragon that conversation is a two-way thing.”

“Well, not all of us can be so lucky with our correspondents,” Jaina pointed out. 

“Rub it in, why won’t you?” Vereesa muttered, and for a while, it was only her breathing filling the silence. “Jaina?”

“I am still here.”

“Do you know that feeling when you are sure you’re going to die? Your body and soul and everything tells you that,” she said, “but you don’t?”

Jaina swallowed, audibly, and said, “I have never actually had a near-death experience.”

“The relief is so strong you get...giddy.”

Jaina’s hand stilled on the blanket, and Vereesa took it as a cue to go on.

“...and you could just kiss someone.”

Jaina let out a long sigh and said, “Did you–”

“No,” Vereesa cut her off, too-quickly, “but I wanted to and I don’t usually want to...think about those things. I keep replaying it in my head. I told you it was silly.”

“I don’t think that’s silly.”

And it was true – if anything, she found it oddly fitting that her best friend had picked the most unattainable person on the planet with whom she could get strangely enamoured.

Jaina looked at Vereesa’s back until her breathing evened out into a deep sleep, and then she put on her coat and left to greet the sunrise on the main deck.

~~~

  
  


_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_Your letter arrived at the most opportune time for I could use it to excuse myself out of a meeting to which I had not been looking forward, citing urgent mission-related duties that required my utmost attention. It was with our esteemed Grand Magister Rommath; he is quite interested in the status of your journey and the status of your romantic life as well. I believe he is somewhat worried that your “little boat trip” (his words, not mine) would bring you and our prince closer together again. I would love to tell him that his fears are not only groundless but based on misinformation but I happen to love seeing him squirm even more than that. Nevertheless, his needling is annoying at best so thank you, Jaina, for your timely rescue._

_Do let me know how I could reimburse you. I have some ideas but I would rather pick your brain, after all, you are the imaginative sort._

_I shall begin answering your numerous (and let me make it clear – most welcome) questions right at the start:_

_Knowing that we are in this together and we share this misery makes me inordinately satisfied and smug too for I have the privilege of being the source of your anguish._

_As for my scientific approach, I have tried quite many procedures in my professional career and I found that I am not specifically partial to anything besides my penchant for discussing theory with a keen partner. One can never stop learning, that is my creed, and therefore I am always open to new concepts. I like to think of myself as a good student, quick on the uptake, but I shall let you be the judge of that. Let it never be said that I was governed by my own hubris, at least not about scientific research._

_I find that all this talk of academics loosens my tongue and with that loosens my grip on my own heart too – I had placed my fingers over it to guard it a bit better but they feel too constricting now that I have met you. If I am gravity to you, you are the exact opposite to me. I am weightless, unbound, ready to soar._

_You said it yourself: I am a true romantic._

_Before I get in a mood you might consider too romantic for our current state, I shall answer your inconsequential inquiries._

_My favourite colour is blue._

_I wear white for mainly practical reasons – I wash my clothes myself and an entire wardrobe of garments of the same colour is a lot more manageable than whatever our nobility deems fashionable. If you wish to terrorise His Majesty, just tell him I said that._

_The other, less practical reason is that my brother, Lirath, used to have a great love for that colour when he was a child. I remember how upset my mother got whenever he came back from the woods with knees greened by grass and yet, she allowed him that indulgence, and he made sure to get properly dirty every time in return. I think it was a game that they played. Oddly, wearing white makes me feel closer to both of them._

_Do you, like me, cling to your childhood in strange and inexplicable ways?_

_I did not get to name my first hawkstrider. He was Alleria’s old and loyal bird she had put in my care after she joined the Farstriders and moved away. He was called “Sunfruit” because – I hope you guessed – that was her favourite fruit when she was six-years-old. Should you have any complaints about the creative forces behind that naming process, please feel free to traverse the Dark Portal and take it up with my sister. Just don’t forget to tell her to come home, too._

_Would you tell me about sailing with your father? Was it a family tradition or simply something so ordinarily Kul Tiran?_

_Ask me all your questions, Jaina._

_In the name of unveiling ourselves, I shall commit myself wholly to the principle of tit for tat._

  
  


_Love,_

_Sylvanas_

  
  


Jaina folded the letter back into the pocket of her coat, which she then pulled closer around herself – the air was crisp with the dawn, and raised her head to face the sun, nearly past the horizon but still timid in its power and light, obscured by a smudge of slate grey rainclouds. The burning of her nerves and the adrenaline of flipping through all the counter-spells and wards in her mind had all been tamed down into docile memories, and her heart beat steady and serene now.

It was worth noting that as talented Sylvanas was at riling her up, she seemed to know how to reassure her as well, with nothing more than a few sentences.

_If I am gravity to you, you are the exact opposite to me. I am weightless, unbound, ready to soar._

How calming it was to know that they could meet halfway – Jaina falling, Sylvanas rising.

She allowed herself to soak in the sun and that tranquillity too, only the waves, the billowing of the sails and the quiet footsteps of the guards making any sound. Soon, she would have to face the day and all the bustling it would bring with it: Kael’thas’ inevitable moaning and groaning, Anya threatening to throw her soldiers overboard over Vereesa’s visitor, Modera’s grumbling about having to put up new wards – she could see it all already.

But not yet, for now, she would bask in the afterglow of Sylvanas’ letter.

_I am a true romantic._

  
  


~~~

“I cannot believe I’m going to lose this bet,” Kael’thas whined as the mountain ranges of Tiragarde Sound drew closer and closer, first the peaks appearing and then entire ridges following behind them, emerging from the fog. Jaina could almost smell Boralus Harbour even from here, fish and seaweed and saltwater and fresh tar on the hulls of fishing boats, mixing together with the scent of clam soup one could buy at every dive bar and tavern in the summer months, and, of course, Kul Tiran ale, always lingering in the air. 

A smile slipped onto her lips as she recalled Sylvanas’ bold declaration of beer-steamed clam superiority over Daelin’s family recipe. 

She wished she could prove her wrong.

Sylvanas hadn’t yet replied to her last letter and Kael’thas had been kind enough to inform her that King Anasterian had ordered Sylvanas to the eastern borders after an incident with the Amani trolls. Jaina tried very hard to be less needy, less demanding of her attention, and most of all: less reasonably worried about her whereabouts. 

“I can believe it,” Modera quipped behind Kael’thas. “If you wanted to do this under four days, you shouldn’t have spent the entirety of yesterday retching into a bucket.”

“As if that was a matter of personal choice!” Kael’thas glanced down at the waves the bow of the _Sungrace_ was cutting through, then snapped his head back just as quickly. He looked positively green. “We still could’ve hit our deadlines if you didn’t take so long with your wards.”

“With respect – that was both necessary and urgent,” Jaina pointed out. “Unlike reaching Boralus half a day earlier.”

“No to mention, a much more re-warding task than blowing air in your sails,” Modera said and Anya snorted at that.

“Perhaps we could reduce late-night interdimensional visits in the future”–Kael’thas crossed his arms–“to nought.”

“So, essentially, this is all my fault,” Vereesa concluded, helpfully, not even an iota of guilt to her tone. 

“Yes,” Kael’thas said and threw a loaded look at the pair of Modera and Anya, standing side by side, looking at a few seagulls diving into the sea and resurfacing with thrashing fish in their beaks. “Finally _someone_ takes responsibility on this ship.”

Nathanos stalked up to them with a sextant he was holding as if it was a strange wild animal he had been tasked to care for and he didn’t have the faintest clue how to approach it. Without further ado, he handed it to the person closest to him: Rhonin.

“I was told that we are to reach port in an hour,” Nathanos announced. “Your Majesty, what are your orders for the crew?”

Kael’thas looked taken aback as though he didn’t expect Nathanos to address him directly. He tapped his fingers on his upper arm, his arms still folded, and said, “Ranger-Captain Anya, please oversee the docking process however you see fit.”

“I shall make sure we get the necessary permits,” Anya said, succinct as ever. “I shall also grant shore leave to my men for a few hours. They won’t see land for a while. It should be good for their morale.”

“Very well, very well.” Kael’thas hummed. “Nathanos, you are a _human_.”

“It would appear so, Your Majesty,” Nathanos said and Jaina admired the straight face he managed to keep.

“I believe the good people of Boralus shall find you very...ordinary,” Kael’thas said. “That is to our advantage. I want you to change out of your ceremonial armour and mingle with the tradesmen _._ ”

“Mingle, Your Majesty?” Nathanos looked somewhat uncomfortable.

“Yes, _mingle._ Find a way to get rid of all this cabbage,” Kael’thas said. “Preferably a profitable one at that.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Nathanos said with a nod.

“Vereesa,” Kael’thas said, “be a darling and accompany Ranger Nathanos, please. You two have worked together, I understand?”

“We have,” Vereesa said and smiled at Nathanos. “I am afraid I’m not the best haggler, however.”

“I am,” Rhonin piped up. “I buy a ton of black market scrolls”–he coughed–“I mean exotic items. I am an experienced...haggler.”

Kael’thas clapped and said, “It is decided then. The three of you shall be in charge of restocking”–Jaina didn’t miss Vereesa’s slight wince–“As for Yours Truly, Lady Proudmoore and Lady...I’m sorry, love, do you have a last name?”

“Yes. It’s Modera.”

“I thought that was your first name?”

“Yes,” Modera said with a laugh. “Continue, please.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Kael’thas huffed. “The three of us shall meet with our hosts, the Lady and Lord Proudmoore, in Proudmoore Keep. Don’t expect us back today.”

“We should have a marvellous time,” Modera said with a copious amount of sarcasm and shot Jaina a look that promised future commiseration.

~~~

Boralus Harbour was almost exactly how Vereesa had imagined before: very busy, very smelly and very gross in new and thrilling ways. Mostly humans, occasional dwarves and even a few gnomes mingled together – fishermen, tradesmen and sailors, all spinning cogwheels in the machinery of Boralus, sometimes bumped and nudged by a guard dressed in green plate to move along. At least, that’s how Vereesa made sense of it all. The only difference was the air – she thought it would be cutting cold, even in the middle of summer, because she associated that image so much with Jaina. Frosty and steely, Jaina acting as the only warm spot in the eye of a storm. It was mildly brisk at most, with the setting sun siphoning the warmth out of the day slowly but with great determination. 

She watched as a horse-drawn carriage took Jaina, Kael’thas and Modera away, the loud clop of hooves on the cobblestone carried long after they disappeared at a corner. She could hardly believe herself: she wanted to be in that carriage, right next to her best friend, possibly dressed garishly against her wishes, instead of rolling cabbage barrels down a plank with Nathanos and Rhonin.

“I think I should try to sell some of my fireworks,” Rhonin said as he took a barrel from Nathanos. “We probably won’t need so much of it, don’t you think?”

“Uh…” Vereesa brushed some sweat out of her brow that gathered there despite the weather. “Yes? Probably?”–she let out a nervous giggle and thought about slapping herself–“I’m sorry I wasn’t–”

“Listening,” Rhoning said and gave her an indulgent smile. “I know. Maybe we should talk.”

“I don’t think we should leave Nathanos alone with the cabbages,” Vereesa tried. “That would be unfair–”

“You can take five,” Nathanos interjected and gave Rhonin a thumbs up, not even remotely subtle, and Vereesa felt a familiar dread starting in her stomach. “I’ll just count the barrels again.”

Rhonin offered her his arm and she just glanced at it, then at Rhonin, then right back at the arm in question, and, finally, she took it.

“Am I suddenly repugnant to you?” Rhonin asked, his voice low and even, masking the hurt Vereesa knew he carried.

“Of course not,” she said, “don’t be silly.”

“I’m not the one being silly,” he said with a tired sigh and followed Vereesa’s lead. She took them down the pier to watch the line fishers at work. The silk fishing lines glimmered in the light of the sinking sun and it reminded Vereesa of gossamer.

“I feel like I’ve ruined everything,” Vereesa said, her gaze firmly set on the mellow waves of the harbour. “Hard to not feel stupid about that.”

“You didn’t ruin _anything_ ,” Rhonin let go of her arm and moved in front of her, blocking her view. He looked distraught, his brows drawn together into a single line, his jaws working on seemingly nothing but air. “I was the one who misconstrued our friendship and...I overstepped and I’m very so–”

“No!” Vereesa yelped and then gripped and balled the sleeve of his robes. “This is on me and I am _so_ sorry. I should’ve – I should’ve stopped you sooner. I thought maybe I could but…”

“But you don’t,” Rhonin finished for her. “I know. I _know_.” 

Vereesa dropped her hand like she had touched fire and it felt like she might’ve had.

Watching her movements, Rhonin added, “This is not on you. None of this is on you.”

“Is that right? First Jaina, now you,” Vereesa whispered, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I can’t...you kissed me and I just”–she opened and flexed her hands, growing frantic with every second and unable to keep the landslide from taking her–“I don’t get this _stuff_. I always hope that – you know – ‘this time maybe’ and then I don’t!”

“You are all right,” Rhonin said and took her hand in his, as he had done so many times before. “You don’t have to ‘get it’ with me. I am very happy to be your friend. If...if you aren’t uncomfortable with me.”

“I am not,” Vereesa sobbed and felt an actual tear roll down her cheeks. “I really am not. I am mad at myself. Not at you.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Rhonin said and squeezed her fingers, “it wasn’t anything specific that you did. I just assumed that you liked me. I get relationships just as much as you do – so, not at all.”

Vereesa laughed, wet and ugly, the kind of laugh that could turn into a break down at any time, and said, “I think I get them a little less than you.”

“A little less,” Rhonin agreed with a grin. “We will work on it. I mean not _we_ like that but–”

“I know. I _know_.”

Rhonin gave her a one-armed hug and she returned it eagerly.

“I would kind of like to talk to you,” she murmured, “about Alexstrasza.”

“All right,” Rhonin said, “tonight, we’ll talk.”

“We should really go back and help Nathanos.”

“Yes.” Rhonin laughed and turned them back. “I think this whole cabbage thing gives him nightmares.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S.: If you are surprised about Vereesa, well, I understand. It was a process to me too but the hints are there. You're welcome to talk to me about it :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Jaina gets very good at meditation, Modera wants to get high, Kael'thas can't say no to fashion, Tandred is a terror and Katherine is still best dressed. Sorry, Kael'thas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So according to a lot of people, AO3 notifications were still down when I posted Chapter 15, so if you missed that one, you should read it before this one :)  
> This is a bit of chill chapter, a little introspection, the calm before the storm, etc. I hope you like it, definitely tell me what you thought of it :)

From the window of their carriage, Jaina looked over the streets of Boralus, the colours of the evening racing with her, giving the distinct feeling of autumn even now, browns and oranges and yellows, with the occasional greens speckled in like last remnants of a vibrant summer, turning darker and colder by the minute. She was sure there was a heavy-handed allegory to all of this but she didn’t want to consider it.

She looked at Kael’thas sitting opposite from her – surprisingly ordinary he was in his periwinkle tuxedo that followed classic Lordaeron fashion, not even a single fringe or flap or pattern disturbing the sleek and somewhat boring design. _Boring_. She could barely believe herself – Quel’Thalas had rubbed off on her in unexpected ways. 

With his uncharacteristically stale fashion, Kael’thas was making an effort, she realised. 

Modera was decidedly not. She was wearing a black dress that could make her fit in well at a funeral for a beginner circus sword swallower. It was exceedingly dramatic in its composition, and neither the double monocles (Jaina was sure she had glasses for this very purpose) nor the hard hat was particularly appropriate for dinner between, for the lack of a better word, friends. Jaina had to wonder if Modera wanted to take the attention off of her and Kael’thas, willingly and bravely assuming the role of the decadent eyesore. 

Jaina reaches out to give her hand a squeeze and Modera offered her a smile before she squeezed back.

“Are you hanging in there?” Modera asked, looking at Jaina.

“Yes, love, thank you for asking. I shall be fine,” Kael’thas answered, reading the room with finely-tuned precision. “It is always treacherous meeting your past in-laws-to-be after the betrothal falls through. I have a lot of experience in this regard.”

“I hope you know that’s not a great thing to be experienced at,” Modera said. “Hardly a badge of honour to be the bachelor desperate to marry every girl he meets.”

“It’s not desperation, Modera, only common sense,” he said. “I am yet to have an heir and Jaina, albeit a human, possesses all the qualities–”

Jaina forced down the urge to groan or gag.

“Please, if our friendship means anything to you, don’t bring up heirs and children with my parents,” Jaina interrupted him. “Yours or mine. Almost the worst topic you could pick.”

“And what _is_ the worst topic?” Kael’thas perked up and leant closer. “Now, I’m all ears.”

“And I’m not!” Modera announced and squeezed Jaina’s hand for the last time. “I need to meditate. I’m sure you can practice silent introspection for a few minutes.”

Kael’thas grumbled something about rudeness and his rights being infringed upon but Jaina supposed he was afraid of Modera’s wrath because he didn’t even make a peep for the rest of their ride, giving Jaina a chance to take in the colours, the smells and the north wind whistling through the narrow alleyways they passed, hitting her through the open window of the carriage, the cooling evening air reddening her cheeks.

  
  


~~~

  
  


Proudmoore Keep stood monumental, just like the last time she had seen it on Winter’s Veil, neither the years nor the weather able to touch its commanding atmosphere that stripped Jaina of almost all of her confidence in an instant.

A butler and two maids had greeted them in the spacious parlour to take their coats, which Jaina kindly refused. She didn’t know their names; her mother went through staff faster than Kael’thas changed his robes. The butler had told them that the Lord and Lady Proudmoore had been held up by an urgent meeting and they would greet them in the dining room at eight o’clock on the dot to partake of supper together (four courses, of course, as per Kul Tiran custom). In the meantime, Modera and Kael’thas had been offered appetizers and drinks, then the maids had led them up to their guest rooms upstairs. 

Jaina had turned down the butler’s offer to usher her; even if it was only common courtesy or merely a requirement of his job, she felt somewhat insulted by the very idea. To her brief shame, it made her question whether her parents had rewoken her rights to the estate. Perchance she was relegated to the role of a guest now and not someone organically part of the House of Proudmoore, someone who shouldn’t traipse around the premises unsupervised, lest she knocks over a vase or steals silverware. She shook herself. _A momentary lapse of reason,_ that’s what her mother would call her train of thought.

Without any warning, Jaina’s stomach was encircled by two strong arms and she was pulled into a crushing bear hug from behind that knocked out all the air from her lungs. Her strong belief that at least some of the maids would’ve looked more than mildly interested if she was being brutally murdered was the only reason why she didn’t polymorph her attacker into a frog. She was lifted up and whirled around as if she weighed nothing. 

“Put me down, Tan!”

Tandred obeyed and spun her around one last time to face him. He was much taller than she remembered, a good head or so taller than her, and Jaina figured at his age boys had a growth spurt every few months just to spite their mothers with the curse of having to buy new sets of every garment. He was tanned and his shaggy hair was like sun-bleached hay, hard evidence that he spent all his time out at sea, weathered by the elements. He looked – happy, Jaina concluded. Free, even. Jaina pulled him into a real hug then, a feat more and more difficult with every passing year. It was still strange that she couldn’t just throw her arms over his shoulders without having to get on her tiptoes. She had used to be able to rest her elbow on the crown of his had.

“Sorry, Jay, about the ambush,” he said and grinned at her and Jaina could see that boyishness still in him, despite the inches he had added to his height and the pounds of muscle he had added to his weight. “I had to catch you before dinner. I want to slip out while our elders are stuck in that meeting.”

“What is _that_ about, anyway?” Jaina said and extricated herself from their hug.

Tandred took Jaina’s bag and made his way to the main staircase.

“Mom and Dad are in a bit of a mood, you know,” Tandred explained and extended his free arm to squeeze her shoulder jovially. “And then they’ll get you in a mood too and I don’t wanna be here for that.”

“Why are they upset?”

Jaina counted the steps. She had to skip a few to keep up with Tandred.

“It’s Old Prissy,” Tandred said and rolled his eyes. At the top of the stairs, they turned left to walk down the hallway that led to the private suits. Without giving it a thought, Jaina reached out to slide her hand along the stone walls of the keep as they went, always cool to the touch but never damp, not even in a relentless rainstorm. When she was a kid, she had entertained herself with the idea that she could tell the weather-to-come just by a touch of the basalt. “I had a bit of a boating accident and now she is wigging out about it. You know how they hate it when she does that.”

“What exactly did you do to ruffle Lady Ashvane’s feathers?” She dropped her arm to sidestep a full set of armour someone placed in the hallway as a decorative element. 

“I set a few ships on fire in Bridgeport.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I set a few ships on fire–”

“I heard that,” Jaina cut him off. “I just hoped you were joking.”

“Yeah…” he sighed. “Nope. I messed with the gunpowder but I swear I didn’t know it would blow like that. You learn something every day.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Jaina hissed.

“No, but I’ll sure be if you continue that seasoned big sister routine,” Tandred quipped and dropped his arm from Jaina’s back. “I _know_ it was stupid and I can’t exactly undo it, so lay off. Mom will give me hell anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaina said and let out a groan. “No matter how idiotic you are, I still shouldn’t assume I can march up here and discipline you.”

“It _is_ a little hypocritical,” Tandred agreed and shrugged, “but I’ll chalk it up to the jitters. I would be soiling my pants too if I had to come home to Mom with _that_ fellow.”

“That _fellow_ is the future king of Quel’Thalas,” Jaina pointed out. “Also, he isn’t my fellow.”

“That’s not what he said in his flowery proposals,” Tandred said and chuckled. They reached Jaina’s old room at the end of the corridor. “He seems like a right prick.”

“He has a few redeeming qualities,” Jaina said but it felt like pulling teeth. “But not nearly enough for me to even entertain him as an option.”

“Well, if you say so, I guess I believe you.” Tandred opened the door and placed Jaina’s bag on the floor of her room. “But you really don’t have the best credentials with men. That Arthas was also a prick.”

“Then I suppose you should be happy to know that I have no men in my life,” Jaina announced and couldn’t help her faint blush. Tandred stepped closer to her and surveyed her face, furrowed his brows deep in thought, and then he cracked a grin.

“Either you’re lying,” he said and poked her cheek with his index finger, “or you’re withholding. You know Mom will flip if you pull this with her. Start practising.”

“I think I might be in love with a woman,” Jaina said, her tone as matter-of-fact as she could manage and grabbed the doorknob for a semblance of stability. 

In a few seconds, Tandred went through a good number of facial expressions, from shock to incredulity to confusion and then he settled on a long whistle, followed by a hearty laugh.

“Jaina, thank you so much,” he said, drawing out each word. He was still grinning. “That will definitely help them forget my arson incident. You are my saviour.”

“I am not joking,” Jaina ground out and as she glanced down at her hand on the doorknob, she could see all her fingers trembling.

“I figured you weren’t,” Tandred said, kinder this time, his toothy grin smoothed down into a smile. “I am talking against myself here but...maybe don’t lead with that.”

“I’m not planning on that,” Jaina said, her voice just as quivery as her hands. “I don’t think I want to tell them at all.”

“Well...I get that,” he said and shook his head slightly. “Thank you, though, for real this time. For trusting me, I mean.”

Jaina released her breath caught in her throat.

“Thank you for not making a big deal out of it,” she said and her hand stilled, finally.

“It is not a big deal, not to me,” he said. “Besides, you’re my sister. I got your back. Even if you are an uppity, stuck-up know-it-all.”

“I resent that,” Jaina spat with a generous heap of mock-offence. “I am not stuck-up and you know it!”

“So we agree on ‘uppity’ and ‘know-it-all’?”

“No, but I’ll graciously drop it,” Jaina said. “You need a win sometimes.”

“Uppity,” Tandred murmured under the peach fuzz he called a moustache as he leaned against the doorframe. “Anyway, I should be going. I don’t want to be around when Mom doles out her punishment for my many, many crimes.”

“Try not to burn down any more ships.”

“Oh, har har. I’ll make sure to avoid the _Sungrace_ , was it?” He patted the wood of the frame for emphasis. “I watched her dock in, by the way. Beautiful ship with some very beautiful women. I didn’t know elves could be tall like that.”

“Don’t even think about that.” Jaina jabbed her index finger into his belly and he doubled over and yelped, a younger brother instinct from days long past. “I don’t want to hear which of my friends you find...kissable. You’re _sixteen_.”

“There it is: Stuck-up Jaina,” Tandred said and raised an eyebrow at her in challenge. “And here I thought we could finally talk about girls.” 

“Tomorrow, before we leave,” Jaina relented after a copious amount of eye-rolling, “would you like to catch up a bit? We could get some breakfast down at the harbour.”

“I’d like that,” he said. “You could tell me about your – what’s it called? Your _doxy_?”

“I can’t believe we are related.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


After Tandred had stolen away into the night to hide at some seedy dive bar, Jaina locked her door behind her and took in her old room with a shaky sigh and a palm on her throat, fingering her pulse. As usual, not a single object seemed out of place – Katherine had most certainly decreed her room untouchable aside from the necessary dusting. One summer they had been doing renovations in the southern wing and they had all of Jaina’s belongings moved to a guest room. Jaina ended up losing quite a few of her notes – most of them school notes, some of them rather private and precious – and Katherine hadn’t taken well to her immature, adolescent tirades, in her own words, about “private space” and “permission”, and Jaina figured she had grown tired of it all.

Jaina had always found it curious that her mother had never framed her failings with the matters of her nobility or her upbringing. Their quarrels had never been about what was befitting of a young lady of her station – the narrative had always been that Jaina with her mind, her sensibility and her impeccable education should be smarter, should be more in control of her own emotions. Let it be known that she was an embarrassment to herself and herself only, not to House Proudmoore, that could and would cast her out at a moment’s notice. Katherine had been wonderfully adept at that game. 

Jaina bent down to brush her fingers over the covers of her bed – green like their family crest, a tightly woven, coarse wool, not something she would choose for herself anymore, a bit too rugged, a bit too rough on her skin. She dropped down on it anyway, caring little for the state of her dress. It was nothing a few spells couldn’t fix. She turned her face to look at the window above her writing desk, guiding her eyes straight to the skies above Boralus, and with some heaviness to her heart, she had to admit that her own conjured version looked more inviting, more homely.

She glanced at the old clock on her wall and noted that she still had an hour to burn before dinner. Her boldness brought a flush to her cheeks as she moved her hands to cast a quick silencing spell on the room. 

She couldn’t even hear her own breaths – all that remained was the steady beat of her own heart in her ears, only the pulse and none the rumbling.

She pulled the stack of letters she had received from Sylvanas out of the pocket of her coat, which she then shrugged off and threw on the floor, wrinkles be damned. She flipped through the papers quickly, trying to find her favourite lines, the ones that made her dizzy with anticipation. With a valiant display of self-restraint, she took the _Stormy Seas_ essay and put it away for later perusal, and went back to skimming Sylvanas’ writing. 

Unlike before, she longed for the romance first, the tenderness, the understanding, the–

She wanted to slap herself for it but it was true.

That was a minor revelation and a happy one at that but she had no time to idle on it. As she slowly rolled the hem of her dress up with her free hand, gliding her fingers over her thigh with painful deliberation, goosebumps emerging in their wake, there was a single-minded determination guiding her: for the sake of her sanity, she had to get rid of all her nerves and replace them with mana wyrms before the hour hand of her clock hit eight.

She flattened her palm against her stomach and started reading, sinking with every word.

_Buy me dinner and you shall see how my bite is._

And saw – she did. Almost too gentle it was as if Sylvanas was scared to break her skin and break her trust and Jaina was revelling in that gentleness now, the complete loss of control just below the surface–

_So much so, that you are slowly shaping up to be my greatest challenge in restraint so far._

Jaina gasped. 

She couldn’t hear it but she could feel it in her throat and all the way down to her lungs, her breaths – once controlled and steady – came out as quiet, shallow pants. Her legs tightened and she had to make a conscious effort to relax her muscles before she got a very inopportune cramp in her calf.

_Did I lay a kiss on your lips right there and then, everyone else be damned? Was it searing, was it consuming? Did it leave you wanting the way I am left wanting tonight?_

Sylvanas’ skin under her palm, her muscles clenching under her touch, her lips pressed to her cheeks, to her jaw, to her neck.

That was too much and too soon and entirely, completely counterproductive. 

She pinched her thigh, light enough to leave her without a bruise but strong enough to force her to unroll all the tension she had been spinning inside.

She would have to start again and again and again, collapsing on herself and building up to a momentum anew until she was tightened into a single, bright star. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


“Someone’s mellowed out,” Modera noted as she adjusted her monocles. She was sitting in one of the sizeable armchairs in the parlour, holding up a local newspaper, looking like she had gone through numerous stages of grief in the last hour, and only some of them could be attributed to her current proximity to Katherine Proudmoore. The Tiranese dimensions of the furniture swallowed her up. “If you have shimmerweed stashed away under your mattress, you are legally required to share it with your mentor.”

“We are under Kul Tiran jurisdiction, so I am not legally required to do anything,” Jaina said and picked an armchair for herself, and then she lifted a pamphlet from the small table between them. It was odd how much sitting in her own hall felt like she was waiting on a business appointment. “And no, I wasn’t smoking. I meditated.”

“Is that what the kids call it?” Modera said and turned the page on _Aurora Boralus_. “Kael’thas went back to change, for the fourth time. While you were _meditating_ , I was just sitting here, waiting for him to appear in something newly ugly.”

Jaina sighed and opened the pamphlet. To her delight, it did not portray her as a wailing pregnant woman, as she was so used to by now, in fact, it didn’t portray her at all. It was a discount coupon for clam chowder down at Snug Harbour Inn. For a few seconds, she basked in the glow of the rickety assumption that maybe Silvermoon gossip really did stay in Silvermoon, and then she pocketed the coupon.

“He is going to make this terribly awkward, is he not?” she said after a beat.

“Oh, definitely,” Modera said and put down the paper. “Better him than either of us, don’t you think?”

The tall grandfather clock next to them gave a mournful sound, the hour hand hitting the number eight, and as if on cue, Lady Priscilla Ashvane bolted from the study, the door swinging shut behind her, her presence only emphasised by her great velocity. The Lord Ashvane trailed her, trying to shush her and grab her hand, but Priscilla was an unstoppable force charging across the parlour.

“I shan’t be treated like that! Stop”–she swatted at him as though he was a fly on her wall–“touching me!”

“Priscilla, you have to handle yourself,” Lord Ashvane ground out between his teeth.

“I don’t have to handle anything,” Priscilla spat and advanced on, firmly ignoring the butler trying to engage with her. “ _They_ have to handle that hellion before he ruins our entire business for what – fun? Bragging rights? This meeting was _useless._ ”

The pair of them stormed out the front door, a whirlwind of confusion left by them on the faces of the staff. The butler stood around with Lady Ashvane’s large fur coat hanging off of his arms for a few seconds, and then, having given up, he hung it back on the coat rack.

“Perhaps we won’t even need good old Kael to set the mood,” Modera hummed.

“You summoned me?” Kael’thas’ twinkling voice came from the staircase, where he stood in a shimmery, emerald green tuxedo, leaning against a pillar and gripping something that suspiciously looked like a gift basket. Jaina was dreading to find out what Kael’thas had prepared for her parents. “Don’t I look enchanting?”

Before they could deny it, the doors of the study opened again and Jaina bolted upright, fight or flight instinct threatening to take hold of her.

There she was: Katherine Proudmoore, impeccably dressed in what they’d call “menswear” in Silvermoon, her greying hair tied back into a severe bun, not a single lock of it out of order, as though she only existed to mock the memory of the frazzled Lady Ashvane. Untouched and unbothered by that entire display.

She looked at Kael’thas at first (her face revealed nothing), then at Modera (her left eyebrow twitched ever-so-slightly), then, finally, at Jaina. Katherine’s lips wobbled as if she wanted to smile but reconsidered it halfway-through.

Jaina did the only thing she could think of that would rattle her mother and throw her off her balance: she marched right up to her and pulled her into a hug.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Vereesa writes letters, Sylvanas is in pain, Kael'thas gets drunk (really, this is starting to become a problem, someone please take care of him), Modera and Katherine get catty, Daelin just wants soup and Jaina finally finds her resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading and commenting :) Your support is very motivating, I hope you'll like this one too!

Sylvanas dropped her pauldrons unceremoniously in the middle of her bedroom at the Spire, finding no strength to take the additional five steps to reach her armour stand, and then she collapsed on her bed with the exact same amount of grace. She let a groan rip out from deep within her as she pressed herself face-first into her covers. There was tiredness and then there was this leaden exhaustion cursing her very existence – her limbs were cast-iron and her eyelids heavy as if someone had already put coins on them for her safe journey through the underworld.

The last few days had been emotionally and physically draining, and while she was most practised at keeping up appearances, she couldn’t stop herself from falling apart in private. As much as she loathed admitting her shortcomings, she was hardly suited to cajole terrified and angry farmers hours at end, seeing her as an iconic figure of quel’dorei history, their saviour, instead of just a woman who is reasonably good at her job.

Blindly, she reached for the drawer of her nightstand to fish out the two envelopes she had left there: the Envelope of Suspect Origin and Kael’thas’ Portable Portal device. Both of them had a letter waiting for her and she picked up the latter. Her heart pulled her towards Jaina but her mind screamed “duty” at her.

  
  


_Dear Lady Moon,_

  
  


_I hope you are all right and your visit to the eastern border is going well. I worry for you, as it is my constant duty as your little sister, but I know you’ve never met an obstacle you couldn’t tackle. My trust in your skills is tremendous._

_My trust in your magnanimity (Do you like this word? I picked it out for you) is also tremendous, so here I go: I am sorry for using this channel to reach you. I know how unprofessional this is and I also know how much you detest that especially coming from me but I need to talk to someone and I need to do it privately._

_It turns out, there’s no one else I would rather talk to and I have so, so much to say. Probably too much, even._

_Since you enjoy lists, I’ll try to summarise the events of the last few days for you:_

  * _I saved the Dragon Queen Alexstrasza with Rhonin Redhair from a bunch of completely insane cultists. (You know this already but you have always taught me to start things at the start and end things at the end.)_


  * _Upon this achievement, I gazed at Alexstrasza as I have never gazed at a woman or a man or a dragon. You do know how I don’t gaze much or at all._


  * _To explore my feelings for Alexstrasza, I did the only sensible thing I could think of: I let Rhonin Redhair give me the third kiss of my life. I am sure you are already asking yourself “Why did you kiss Rhonin if your eyes long to gaze at Alexstrasza? Are you entirely batty, Little Moon?” and the answer is very simple: Rhonin wanted to kiss me and I thought that would be very reasonable of us, two very compatible best friends._


  * _My third kiss was very much like my second and first kisses: I wanted it over. Whereas I could cite my lack of tender feelings towards my first two lovers as the root of my problems, I can hardly do the same with Rhonin. I have a lot of tender feelings for him. Probably friendship._


  * _Now that I have done all this gazing, I am very confused about everything._



_My question is: do you think it is possible for a person to just not like anyone? Alleria had always had boys and girls running after her and she never dated any of them. Has she ever talked to you about that? Was it, maybe, like this?_

_I have made an attempt with Jaina and Rhonin, two of my best friends in the world, both of them objectively good looking people (I am sorry to say this about your girlfriend but it is true!) and I care deeply for them, yet here I am. Devoid of that feeling_ Dath’Remar and Tyrande _describes as “desire of the heart and the flesh”. I’ve always found that line particularly gross._

_Or am I devoid of it, truly?_

_How does attraction feel to you? How do you know you like a person? I realise how stupid I must sound to you now, wanting to have “the talk” at this age, after all those many times I said I was too young or too busy to talk about love. I don’t want to be too young anymore._

_I almost forgot:_

  * _Alexstrasza contacted me and left a heap of jewellery on my bed. What do you know about dragons? Why do you think she does this?_
  * _I am still tipsy and writing this letter in Jaina’s bed. Maybe I should’ve waited until I sobered up. I am very sorry._



_Thank you for listening to me, Lady Moon. I don’t even know what I’m looking for here but it felt good to write all of this out._

  
  


_Love,_

_Little Moon_

  
  


Sylvanas put the letter down on the sheets, next to her head, and then buried her face in her palms.

She felt her heart break a little, having to read about the turmoil Vereesa was in – and she was an expert at making light of all her issues– and being unable to reach out and kiss her forehead as she had done so many times, but then the shards rearranged themselves. Vereesa was not alone – she had Jaina and she had Sylvanas and if this Rhonin person wasn’t some weasel, then she had him too. 

She reached for the other envelope.

~~~

  
  


Katherine’s fingers ghosted along Jaina’s forearms, as if she wanted to grab her – to pull her in or push her away, she couldn’t tell – but she found no purchase. In the end, she settled on a palm on Jaina’s shoulder, gently pressing on, urging her to end their hug before either of them could get any meaningful emotional satisfaction out of it.

Jaina had to be content with the tightening of her mother’s jaw and the pursing of her lips into a thin line as if repression ran so deep in her that it solely ruled her muscles in place of her nerves.

Jaina didn’t envy that. 

She might not have inherited her mother’s admirable restraint and keen self-governance – her own handle on her feelings was like soil after a drought, her control seeping through the cracks and disappearing always, always – but it left her as someone a bit more _alive_.

“Jaina,” Katherine said evenly, and Jaina could tell from the momentary furrowing of her brows that she was annoyed at her lack of decorum but could not voice her displeasure without sacrificing some civility. _Checkmate_. “Would you _please_ introduce me to your guests?”

“We have met,” Modera announced and walked up to their pair, towering over them in her impractical high-heeled boots and top hat.

Katherine awarded her with a passive look and said, “My apologies, I happen to meet quite a few people every day. An occupational hazard.”

“I have a hard time believing that you found me so forgettable,” Modera said and flashed a smile that exuded so little warmth that Jaina was chilled by it and it wasn’t even directed at her. “I tend to make an impression. Maybe the fault lies in your memory. I am sure at your age–”

“Lady Katherine Proudmoore, may I introduce you Archmage Modera of the Kirin Tor,” Jaina cut Modera off before she could finish that sentence. “My mentor and my work partner on our current mission.”

“ _Modera_ ,” Katherine said and the muscles of her neck stiffened, “you’re right. That name rings a bell.”

“I have rung more than a single bell–”

“A pleasure meeting you again,” Katherine said and made it very clear that she found nothing pleasurable about it.

“And this is Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider, he is–”

“Your fiancé,” Katherine finished for her and clasped her hands behind her back. Jaina glanced to the side and saw that they were trembling with what Jaina assumed to be rage. “If only my daughter mentioned that the heir of Quel’Thalas would be joining us, we could’ve prepared a proper function for you and set up a personal security detail.”

Jaina opened her mouth to protest but her voice got caught in her throat and Kael’thas swooped in.

“Ah, nonsense, darling,” Kael’thas waved and jogged down the stairs. “The official story is that I am currently in Northrend on a scientific research mission.”

“A covert mission, I understand,” Katherine said and shook his extended hand, not exactly warmly, but Kael’thas seemed only delighted by this turn of events. “It explains your docking documentation too.”

“Oh, look at you _two_ , who could ever deny the family resemblance?” he said and Jaina was sure he _fluttered_ his eyelashes. He turned Katherine’s hand over and gave it a light kiss. It was disturbing. “Now I know where Jaina got that beautiful, angry jawline.”

Then came a strange, terrifying sound. Jaina snapped her head to the side to stare at Katherine in shock but it was true: Katherine Proudmoore decided to laugh at _that_. A short, clipped sound, unpractised and alien but definitely a laugh. That was a _choice_ she made. A well-calculated one too, Jaina was sure, and she would have given a lot to be able to pick her mother’s mind at that moment. 

“That’s my side of the family, certainly,” Katherine said and when Kael’thas offered her his arm, she took it. Jaina looked at Modera, pleading for emotional support in this trying time but all she got was an unsubtle eye-roll and a shrug. “We brought the jawlines and the anger and my husband provided the stubbornness.”

“With the amount of stubbornness you have,” Modera offered, lowly enough that only Jaina could hear her, “I could’ve sworn it came from both sides.”

“You are here to be my friend,” Jaina ground out, “Not my enemy.”

“I’m sorry, your mother brings out the worst in me.”

“Your estate is absolutely lovely, I must say. I am head over heels in love with the nautical decorations – so quaint,” Kael’thas gushed as Katherine lead them towards the dining room. Katherine looked back at Jaina and shot her a blistering glare over her shoulder before she turned back towards Kael’thas.

“Kind of you to say,” Katherine said. “I presume our somewhat austere way of living pales in comparison to what you are used to in Silvermoon.”

“I might look like a fish out of water”–he had the audacity to wink at Katherine–“but I have been learning a lot from Jaina,” Kael’thas said. “By the end of our trip, I might even learn to tie a knot.”

“Or tie _the_ knot,” Modera quipped and Katherine stared at her for a few long moments, unblinking and silent, her own way of flipping her off.

Jaina wanted to scream at Kael’thas and shake him, but more than that, she wanted to do the same thing to herself. Here they were in the corridor leading to the dining room, only the four of them, a perfect opportunity to clear the air to spare herself from further embarrassment, yet she couldn’t open her mouth because, against all odds, Katherine seemed ready and willing to play Kael’thas’ game of pleasantries. It was almost like watching a natural disaster – she felt helpless and in awe, at the mercy of the elemental power that her mother was, forever eroding Jaina’s willpower. She had a visceral need to throw up all her words at once – about Kael’thas, about Kalimdor, about _Sylvanas_. She swallowed it back.

“In any event, I am most thankful that you welcomed us in your home, Lady Proudmoore,” Kael’thas added.

“The pleasure is mine,” Katherine said and Jaina didn’t believe her for a minute. “And please, call me Katherine.”

Katherine opened the door revealing a long dining table already set with the good porcelain plates that she only pulled out at holidays. Freshly cut ivy and a few candles decorated the table – it had evidently been arranged by the group of servants standing at attention, and not a worn-out looking Daelin Proudmoore sitting at the head of the table, wearing an unbuttoned vest over his shirt and a tie that hung sadly around his neck, barely tied at this point. He scrambled to his feet and pulled himself back into shape, his sudden verticality giving everyone a pause.

“Welcome to our humble...dining room,” he said, his voice booming and cheerful, an antithesis to his wife’s. “I’m Daelin and you must be, ah, Modera! It’s been too long. I’d love to say I missed you but I am still somewhat afraid of you.” 

“Thank you, the feeling is not mutual,” Modera said with a laugh and shook his hand. “You look good, Daelin. Whatever they say about men and wine and ageing, they must be right.”

Daelin let out a belly laugh and Katherine smiled politely, tightening her hand on Kael’thas’ elbow.

“Your Highness!” Daelin said and slapped his large palm over Kael’thas’ shoulder, whose knees sagged under his weight. “It’s been quite a few years, hasn’t it? I haven’t seen you since the war ended.”

“My preferred title is ‘His Majesty’ now,” Kael’thas said with a grin.

“Preferred title! You are too much!” Daelin patted him again and Jaina was worried he would topple over. To her relief, he let go of him and greeted Jaina with a one-armed hug that could never compare to the one Tandred had offered her, but it was still warm enough to make her eyes prickle. She brushed her tears out of her eyes discreetly. Her mother pretended to not notice it.

Daelin squeezed Jaina once more, and then he walked to the small cellaret where he stored his imported whiskey and wine – the latter was a lost cause in Kul Tiras and the former was simply just bad, and her father had always preferred full-bodied arathian whiskeys to whatever swill they managed to cook up in Drisburg. 

“I must say when we received your letters”–he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, it glimmered amber in the candlelight–“we thought it was a practical joke. The prince of the elves sending some lavender-scented proposals? To our daughter? Surely a fabrication!”

“They were _lavender-scented_ ,” Jaina murmured to Modera.

“At least he didn’t send them a full-body portrait of himself,” she whispered back. “My parents didn’t like that too much.”

Jaina made a terrible, terrible mental note to ask Modera later about her apparent courtship by Kael’thas. Daelin handed them a glass of whiskey each.

“We apologise for never getting back to you,” Katherine said but her slightly raised left eyebrow told Jaina that she had no regrets whatsoever. “Here, in Kul Tiras, we prefer to conduct marriage arrangements in person.”

“Because we need to drink about it,” Daelin added jovially and poured Kael’thas a glass too. “The best way to judge a future son-in-law is to get him drunk.”

Despite herself, Jaina had to think about Sylvanas and how even back in Silvermoon, as they had been on their way to the _Anchor’s Drift_ , she had known that the only capacity she wanted to introduce her to Daelin was as her beloved. _My personal guest_. That had been a minor distortion of the truth back then and a gut-wrenching reminder now. 

They clinked their glasses, Jaina downed her whiskey in one gulp, much like Kael’thas did – the liquor burning a path down her throat – and then blurted out, “We are not getting married.”

Her eyes locked with Katherine’s over her glass. She expected her gaze to harden, her brows to draw together, her lips to press into a severe line – none of that came and it took the wind out of Jaina’s sails. Katherine looked triumphant.

“Is that so?” she asked.

Daelin hummed and poured Kael’thas another glass.

“Your daughter turned me down,” Kael’thas slurred, the whiskey already wreaking havoc in his system. “I tried and I tried but she loves–”

“ _Research_ ,” Jaina cut him off. “I love research too much.”

“As queen of Quel’Thalas,” Kael’thas said and wobbled a bit, “her research options would be limited to...”

“Fashion,” Modera said.

“Not my preferred field,” Jaina agreed.

“You could’ve spared us the pretence,” Katherine said, her tone a degree or two colder. “But I suppose this entire evening is about charades, is it not? Did you pick up these games at Dalaran or Silvermoon?”

“I am sorry,” Kael’thas moaned and moved to sip more of his whiskey but Modera wrestled it out of his hands. “‘Tis all my fault...I felt so welcome and accepted and loved even, I had no heart to correct you.”

“Can we have him sit and eat something?” Modera addressed Katherine as she slammed Kael’thas’ glass on the table with a loud thud. “Or do you want him to cry over you?”

“Let us dine,” she agreed and motioned for everyone to sit and for the servants to bring the first course. “Am I going to be enlightened about the reason for your visit or should I start guessing too? I am somewhat behind the rules.”

“Your letter was a bit vague,” Daelin injected. 

“I am not here to introduce my fiancé,” Jaina said, sat down in front of her mother, with Daelin to her left and Kael’thas to her right, then she placed a napkin in her lap. “We needed a place to restock and I didn’t think Northrend was ideal for that purpose.”

“Not unless you want to restock with lichen and moss,” Katherine said and ladled some wild mushroom soup into her bowl. 

Kael’thas giggled and whispered to Modera loudly enough to fit a stage production, “Moss! They really are related.”

“Yes, well”–Jaina ignored Kael’thas–“we have a long journey ahead of us, at least one more week of sailing. We needed good quality supplies.”

“Are you going to Stranglethorn Vale?” Daelin said between two spoonfuls, apparently unbothered by any tension in the room.

“Kalimdor,” Jaina said. “We are going to Kalimdor.”

The spoon in Katherine’s hand froze mid-motion and the soup dripped back into her plate.

“What did you say?”

“Your hearing must be going too, love,” Modera said. “She said–”

“Not now, _Modera_ ,” Katherine snapped.

“–Kalimdor.” Jaina balled her fists and then smoothed out the napkin in her lap yet again. “We are going to Kalimdor to recover Naaru artefacts that could revolutionise Light-based healing techniques.”

For a while the only sound was Kael’thas and Daelin clinking their spoons to the porcelain plates. Modera was burning a hole in Katherine’s profile with her gaze, Katherine was staring straight into what felt like Jaina’s soul, and Jaina was focusing on the soup ladle sticking out of the pot between the two.

“I presume you had a task force assembled?” Katherine asked eventually.

“Sylv–the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas,” Jaina corrected herself, “assigned three rangers and fifteen soldiers to the mission.”

“The Kirin Tor is represented by _yours truly_ ,” Modera said, positively dripping with sarcasm, “and another senior mage. While we don’t expect too much trouble, we are well-prepared.”

“I suppose my approval means next to nothing,” Katherine said. “As usual.”

Jaina said, “It _is_ a dangerous mission. I wished to talk to you before I left, just in case.”

She didn’t elaborate on that and Katherine only nodded. A silent understanding passed between them and Jaina hoped they understood the same thing and not something wildly different that would come to bite her in the derriére later on.

“This is also part of Jaina’s evaluation process,” Modera said and shot Jaina a quick smile. “If everything goes as planned, she shall join the ranks of Archmages upon our return to Dalaran.”

“Does that mean that your studies are over?” Daelin piped up as he handed his empty bowl to a servant.

“Technically,” Kael’thas said and hiccuped once, “her man...mandatory studies have been over for ages. This is all for fun! Isn’t she such a little eager beaver?”

Jaina wanted to curse him out.

“Eager beaver,” Katherine repeated flatly and bristled. A single, strikingly silver lock fell out of her bun, and she put it behind her ear.

“So you can come home, then?” Daelin pressed on, visibly perking up. “Your arcane energy is stable?”

Jaina ground her teeth together, a habit she had taken up as a child and then dropped in Dalaran. There it was: the chance to be truthful, yet again.

“It has been stable for a while,” Jaina admitted and sighed. “I didn’t come home because…”–she trailed off and twirled the pastry fork between her fingers to occupy her hand before it could start shaking–“I didn’t think that was a viable option, considering everything.”

“Considering everything what, exactly?” Katherine gripped her glass of water so hard the ends of her fingertips turned white.

“Let’s just eat,” Daelin tried and urged the servants to bring out the second course with a wave of his hand. “We can have these talks later when–”

“No, Mom is right.” Jaina put down the fork. “We should talk now.”

“Daelin,” Katherine said, “would you please entertain our guests while we chat?”

Jaina gave Modera a last, determined nod and grabbed her father’s bottle of whiskey from the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have sketched a couple of characters, so if you'd like to check them out here are the links:
> 
> https://vice-vereesa.tumblr.com/post/619559962294763520/sylvanas-after-the-48th-terrible-basket-eoso  
> https://vice-vereesa.tumblr.com/post/619545772857458688/a-few-quick-sketches-ive-done-of-the-eoso-cast
> 
> cheers!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Jaina and Katherine have a friendly chat over a few glasses of whiskey, Vereesa-Rhonin-Nathan find out about local tourism, Sylvanas needs about 36 hours of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! Recent world-, personal- and professional events forced me to divert my attention from writing. I don't regret that. I am back to business now and I thank you for your patience! In the future, I will probably roll back to a once-a-week schedule as COVID is almost over here and I am needed to appear in person at my workplace.

“I have good news and bad news,” Vereesa said as she dropped down next to Nathanos on the pier, her legs dangling over the water, and if she flexed her feet, she could touch the surface with the toes of her ranger boots. The wooden planks had lost the warmth of the sun long ago – the chill of night had taken over and unlike in Quel’Thalas, it wasn’t accompanied by the droning of cicadas and crickets. The air was filled with the distant murmur of sailors enjoying their downtime with ale, discordant singing, synchronised yelling and friendly bar fights. “The bad news is that I can’t seem to get a good price on the cabbage. I have tried everyone in the market district.”

“Have you tried the exotic food vendor?” 

_“Everyone_.” Vereesa tried to give him a squint, an admonishing one, but her face cracked halfway through it. “Cabbage isn’t an exotic food, for your information.”

“Same here,” Rhonin announced with a despondent sigh as he arrived and sat down too, the two of them bracketing Nathanos. “No luck so far on the cabbage front. I could, however, get a nice deal on my fireworks from some weird lad. He looked like an arsonist, though.”

“Well, that’s something,” Nathanos said. He broke off a small crumb from the biscuit in his hands and fed it to the small school of fish gathering underneath them. “What’s the good news, then, ‘Rees?”

“We could trade all the cabbage for pickled gherkins.” She was met with stares: Nathanos’ was blank, Rhonin’s was slightly worried. He sighed and tried to cover it up with a hiccup out of tact but it wasn’t a convincing performance. After a beat, Vereesa added, “I was _kidding._ I tried and tried but they wouldn’t part with their gherkins.”

“I talked to the innkeeper at the Snug Harbour Inn,” Rhonin said, “and he was willing to buy most of our barrels but only for an almost symbolic price. I think he pities us, frankly.”

“I would pity us too,” Vereesa said and kicked out her legs, swinging them back and forth. “I definitely already pity myself, in a general sense.”

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Nathanos murmured and dropped the rest of his biscuit in the water, the fish going into a frenzy over it, “but I am a disappointment to His Majesty no matter what. I can deal with this adding to my tally.”

“So, should we just get rid of it and call it a day?” Rhonin asked and Nathanos shrugged.

“We could see what that inn is about,” he said. “Anya and half of the troops are out and about anyway. Maybe we should get some rest and recuperation too?”

Vereesa laughed and said, “Rest and recuperation! I can’t believe that _you’re_ the one to suggest that.”

“Listen now,” Nathanos harrumphed but gave her a rare toothy grin in the end. “In the last few days I have been violently seasick, I have taken care of a very drunk and then very hungover Kael’thas”–he counted down on his fingers–“and I have been tasked to move and trade a hundred barrels of fermented cabbage that no one wants to eat including me. I think I deserve a pint of ale or two.”

“That might be the most words I’ve ever heard you say,” Rhonin said and patted Nathanos’ shoulder in sympathy.

“That’s how you know Lord Marris means it,” Vereesa added. “I, for one, would love to find out if they serve anything but Kul Tiran ale.”

“Not a devotee?” Rhonin leaned forward to look at her.

“Nope,” Vereesa said. A shiver ran through her as a chilly breeze brushed past them. “As far as I’m concerned, the only good thing these isles have ever produced is Jaina.”

  
  


~~~

Jaina thought she could cut the air between her and her mother – it was a palpable mass full of wild electricity that crackled and then slowly fizzled out and into a static shock between two disagreeing charges as they made their way upstairs.

Katherine clicked the door of her study shut behind them and spun around to face Jaina.

“This was the longest hour in my entire life,” she ground out and leaned against the door for a moment. Jaina looked over her mother, at her increasingly frazzled bun, at her still ramrod straight back, and she rolled the bottle of whiskey over and over in her hand, her mind trying to settle on the exact sentence, artistically executed, that could launch them towards a conversation instead of a fight.

“It was thirty minutes at most,” Jaina said and took two glasses out of the cabinet next to the writing-table.

“ _Jaina_. Don’t start.” Katherine rounded the table to hold up the glasses while Jaina poured out the whiskey and formed a few cubes of ice out of the humidity in the air. “You let me make an absolute fool out of myself. I am _not_ in an appreciative mood.”

“Are you ever?” Jaina sighed and clinked their glasses together. Katherine downed her whiskey in one gulp without so much as blinking. The ice didn’t have time to melt and now it sloshed around in a manner as sad and confused as one could expect from the situation.

“You have no idea.”

“No, I really, _really_ don’t,” Jaina admitted between two sips. “Do you want another glass?”

“Not yet.” Katherine sat down in one of the green velvet armchairs in front of the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “I would prefer to remember this. Tides know it’s a long time coming.” 

“Only a decade,” Jaina said and seated herself too. “To clear the air, I did not know Kael’thas had sent you that proposal before we took off. I had no control over that misunderstanding but I do apologise for not being forthcoming about it.”

“Why weren’t you?”

Jaina considered lying or at least masking the truth with a smaller, less significant truth but decided against it as the whiskey left her throat scorched in a strange cleansing fire.

“Because, in your own way, you were making an effort with him,” Jaina said, “and I didn’t want to ruin that moment too soon”–she took another sip–“Maybe I just crave your approval. Even if it’s fake.”

“I take it you two aren’t lovers,” Katherine said eventually, and Jaina didn’t miss the tiny, almost imperceptible undertone of warmth in her voice, a thing Jaina had been scavenging for ten years. “A rather idiotic display you put up, then. You would do well to at least explain your reasons.”

Jaina placed her now empty glass back on the table and drummed her fingers on it. Her mother seemed mollified for the time being but Jaina knew better than to hope for anything else than a brewing storm.

“I don’t like the way you talk to me,” Jaina said evenly. “I don’t like that you revert to demands the moment you don’t have to keep up appearances.”

“Can I not demand to be taken seriously in my own house?” Katherine quipped.

“Can I not demand to be loved instead of just tolerated by my own mother?” Jaina said, careful to keep her voice as steady and eerily calm as she could.

Katherine bristled – a tremor went through her whole body as if she was still processing the burn of the whiskey.

“Would you _please_ , if for not mine then for diplomacy’s sake,” Katherine said, “inform me if you had an affair with the heir of Quel’Thalas? I need to know if I have ruffled feathers to smooth out.”

“No, we have never been lovers of any sort,” Jaina said and tapped her fingernails to the rim of her glass, the tinkling echoing in the sparsely furnished room, making Katherine wince in distaste. “I have never even shared his bed.”

“Don’t be crude,” Katherine spat and waved for Jaina to pour out another glass for her. _So much for that._

“I thought you would be happy to hear that,” Jaina said. “You seemed quite relieved.”

“I would be happy to hear nothing about your _bedtime activities_ ,” Katherine said. “From you or any other source. I am not so lucky.”

Jaina laughed, despite herself and the gravity of the situation. 

“Which rumour did reach you? The one where I’m having Arthas’ triplets?”

Katherine’s eyebrow twitched at the mention of his name and Jaina allowed herself to feel a tinge of ugly satisfaction.

“No.” Katherine shook her head and then gave Jaina a level stare that halted her slow but steady progress in self-confidence in an instant. “The one saying that you are secretly courted by the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas. A woman, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jaina felt her heartbeat speed up, her arteries filling her brain and limbs hotly, her cheeks and neck blooming in red, and the soles of her feet prickle – it was _shame_. She tore her hand away from her glass. A pattern of ice crystals was growing on it.

“Mom–”

“You’re not denying it,” Katherine cut her off, not entirely unkindly, and Jaina was barely believing it. She considered her own shame – the shape of it, the colour of it, the way it entangled itself with her. She wanted to cut off its roots and leave it to wither and die.

“I am not,” Jaina whispered. “I am not denying it.”

Katherine reached up with her free hand to massage at her temple, her face was telling on the tiredness she must’ve had felt but otherwise, it was a slate of stone, unreadable and sharp, and reflecting none of the surprise or shock Jaina presumed to come.

“Why do you do these things, Jaina? Do you want to live an _underhanded_ life?”

“Keeping my private life private from you is not underhanded,” Jaina ground out, her shame crystallising into ire. 

“This is _not_ private,” Katherine snapped and threw back the rest of her whiskey. “This is you putting your business on display for everyone but us. Do you not know how mortifying it was to sit down with Terenas and discuss terms of marriage because we were scared you would gift us with a bastard for a grandchild?”

“As difficult as it might be for you to imagine,” Jaina said, “I am not governed by some mighty need to agitate you. I simply don’t prioritise making you proud. I just don’t consider that an achievable goal, is all.”

“Is it truly so much to ask?” Katherine said and her voice came out as shaky as her hands. “To involve us? To involve _me_? How am I supposed to protect you if I don’t even know what you get up to?”

“Protect me?” Jaina scoffed. “You mean my reputation?”

“I meant what I said,” Katherine said. “Don’t twist my words. For once.”

“What exactly do I need protection from?”

“You have lived a very sheltered life, Jaina.” Katherine’s hand, trembling and white and oh-so-fragile now curled into a fist. “First by us and then by the Kirin Tor. You don’t know how _cruel_ people are to those who aren’t like them.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” She remembered all too well a naive child having her entire world shattered by the sight of an orcish internment camp – women and children locked up in cages for the crimes of others, their singular sin being an _association_. “I am lucky because I could be dishonest about my nature if I wanted to do so. I could marry a man, I could even love him and never have to face ostracism from anyone.”

“Jaina, _please_.” Katherine was pleading now and Jaina felt like she had been slapped on the cheek by that otherworldly image. “I could have a marriage arranged with a like-minded man. You are hardly the first noblewoman with these inclinations.”

“Do you hear any word that’s coming out of my mouth?” Jaina couldn’t stop herself from slapping her own thighs in frustration. They stung in protest but it was nothing compared to the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want that, Mom. Maybe a few months ago I would’ve jumped on that opportunity but I don’t want to anymore. Not even to make you feel good.”

“Oh, Tides…You _love_ this woman,” Katherine said and it was less of a question and more of a statement.

“I do,” Jaina sighed. “I suppose I love her enough to defy you.”

“You don’t have to defy me,” Katherine said and freed her hand from her glass to tentatively reach out and place her palm on Jaina’s knee. “Perhaps it is the whiskey speaking but...you are not the heir of House Proudmoore. As long as you conduct your business discreetly, well”–she trailed off and sank her nails a bit into Jaina’s knees–“You have no such obligations to this house unless you assume your title again.”

“Well, that’s not really up to me, is it.”

“It might just be,” Katherine said. “Tandred is a handful or two. He either finds a way to become respectable or your father shall offer you your title again. You have finished your training, after all.”

“You are joking.”

“I wish I was,” Katherine said. “The other houses let us know that they’d prefer if we disowned him in an official manner.”

“Because he set ships on fire?”

“This week, he did that. Last week he stole ale from the breweries.” Katherine stood up abruptly and went to pace the room. “I do not know how to control him. It was so much easier with Derek and you.”

“Well, that certainly worked wonders for our relationship, did it not?” Jaina hummed and checked the label on the whiskey bottle.

Katherine gave her a look that could melt a hole into a steel shield and said, “Don’t act like you had nothing to do with that.”

“I did not say that,” Jaina huffed. “But I wasn’t an adult as I am now and you holding me to adult standards were, perhaps, less than fair. Can we at least agree on that?”

“I hold you to high standards because”–Katherine’s voice stumbled and cracked–“Because I want you to push yourself and you wouldn’t have done so otherwise. I can’t _stand_ the idea of you not living up to your potential.”

“Well, you need to let go of that,” Jaina said as she looked up from her armchair. “My potential is not up to you.”

“Should I just let you squander it? With meaningless dalliances with people who don’t care for you? And...and going to Kalimdor to– what? To get _killed_?”

“Sylvanas cares for me,” Jaina said. “And this isn’t a suicide mission. You may rest assured.”

“I worry for you so much,” Katherine sobbed and Jaina was sure that by this point, her mother was beyond the dictionary definition of tipsy and firmly ambling towards inebriation.

“Why don’t you write to me, then? Why don’t you ask after me?” Jaina let out a dreary sigh. “You know that’s all I ever wanted from you.”

“You know why!” Katherine dropped back in her chair. Jaina raised a single eyebrow at her contrived melodrama. “I feel like I cannot ever say the right thing to you.”

“Well, I feel like you don’t particularly _try_ ,” Jaina said. “And that is the easy way out.”

“There’s nothing easy about this.”

Jaina looked her mother in the eye, let the moment pass and said, “I am sorry that I’m not easy to love.”

“Don’t say that,” Katherine groaned. “You’re so easy to love, Jaina. I just don’t know how to do it well.”

Jaina will to argue and her righteous fury got sucked into a vacuum. She stood up and pulled out the top drawer of her mother’s writing-desk and took out two envelopes.

“Despite my misgivings, I am giving you a chance now,” she said and started casting. “I would like you to take it.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


“Do you think she is fine?” Rhonin leaned closer to Vereesa conspiratorially and nodded towards the barmaid, a tall and voluptuous Kul Tiran woman balancing eight mugs of ale on a tray, the brown-white froth running down on the sides of the glasses. Vereesa was particularly mesmerised by that vision.

“Oh, definitely. She seems very capable,” Vereesa said with a shrug. “I admire her ability to carry so much beer.”

“Are you kidding me,” Nathanos murmured and drowned himself in his ale.

“Do you find her beautiful?” Rhonin tried again.

“I think she is objectively a very good-looking woman,” Vereesa admitted. “I am not stupid, Rhonin, I can see why anyone would want to court her.”

The barmaid rounded their table and put down a pitcher of lemonade in front of Vereesa.

“What your friend is trying to get at, love,” she said and put a hand on her hip. Vereesa followed the motion and stared transfixed at the knot on her apron, “is if you, specifically, want to shag me?”

Nathanos coughed and sputtered, raining ale over their table.

“I...I don’t – I mean I haven’t...I’m not looking for a relationship?” Vereesa stuttered through each word as if she was reading from a piece of sheet music with “syncopation” as its only notation. “You’re lovely?”

“That I am,” the barmaid said with the gentlest of smiles and wiped off all the beer that Nathanos had spat all over the place with a few practised movements. “I’m glad I could be of help, love. You’ll figure it out.”

Vereesa followed her along with her gaze as she circled the tables and went back to the kitchen behind the bar. She tried to identify a feeling or even just recollections of a feeling inside her, something akin to what Rhonin and – to an extent – Nathanos were talking about, that level of affection that was somehow supposed to be different to what she felt for her friends. Not necessarily more – just different.

As she looked around the inn, the only memory she could recall was the weight of a body in her arms, lighter and easier to carry than she had expected for someone barely holding onto life, limbs splayed and muscles slack, golden eyes flickering with waning consciousness locking with her own, a single palm pressed onto Vereesa’s jaw, smearing a strip of blood– 

Vereesa shook herself.

Rhonin had been quite verbose and poetic as he had talked about mutual understanding and a meeting of twin souls and energies resonating together to create beforehand unseen synergy. Things he had not yet experienced but craved to find and, to Vereesa’s surprise, he hadn’t sounded to be even a bit melancholic about it. It was all brightness and hope and he was convinced that romantic happiness was to be his lot in life, sooner or later.

“You _will_ figure it out,” Rhonin said and moved to cradle her hand in his.

Nathanos, on the other hand, had been mostly engrossed in his beer and his thin paperback pulp fiction novel, occasionally offering some profound knowledge on dating such as “If you want women to like you – observe me, take notes and then don’t do anything I do” and other self-deprecating jokes that made Vereesa a little uncomfortable and a little sad.

“Maybe not today, though,” Nathanos added after taking a long draw of his drink. “Nothing to hurry about. I’m thirty-six, I am shite at dating and I still haven’t given up.”

“I’m over a thousand years old,” Vereesa told him.

“Yeah, well, you don’t look it,” Nathanos said and shrugged. “Or act like it.”

“Hey!” Vereesa whined and slapped him on the shoulder; it made Nathanos spill more of his beer on his white shirt that was now somewhat see-through. Rhonin whistled at him.

“I call it as I see it,” Nathanos grumbled and folded his arms over his chest.

The three of them shared a grin and Vereesa felt a weight dissolve in her heart and in her stomach.

  
  


~~~

  
  


Before sleep could take her over for good, Sylvanas pulled out Jaina’s letter – no, _letters_ from the Envelope of Suspect Origin. There were two papers, perhaps written on separate days; she checked for a date and found none. She picked up the one with significantly better handwriting because her eyes were swimming already and she didn’t want to add migraine to her list of ailments.

  
  


_Dear Sylvanas,_

  
  


_This is my second letter. I definitely do not suggest reading it in polite company. I have the other one for that._

_Suffice it to say that I was more than happy to be of service to you and there is nothing to reimburse. The very thought that my continued existence is such a nuisance to Grand Magister Rommath is a source of constant, baffled amusement and that in itself should be reward enough._

_However, in case you feel yourself particularly indebted to me, just know that I am also keen on discussing theory with you and you can always repay me with a good conversation that invigorates the mind and the soul and everything else we are willing to lay on a scale to measure._

_Apropos of that: may I be outrageously bold with you and share a reoccurring dream of mine?_

_I often think about the two of us on your couch at the Spire, splitting a bottle of Dalaran Red, discussing academia long into the night, until we are both so overcome with the thirst for knowledge that you must, must conduct an in-depth interview with me right then and there._

_I believe this would satisfy our scientific curiosity, at least momentarily._

  
  


Sylvanas had to stop reading the letter and remind herself to breathe and maybe swallow down her saliva before she choked on it, resulting in a very untimely and pathetic death. Part of why she hadn’t taken the Envelope to the border was that she was somewhat mortified of the idea of someone assassinating her and finding her love letters on her prone body. 

While she was a romantic at heart, she preferred only Jaina privy to that sensitive piece of information.

And how romantic and how sensitive that information was – Jaina Proudmoore on her couch, robed or unrobed, her mind wasn’t quite made up about that, her freckles almost blending into the blotchy blush that was so very much unique to her, her pulse a beat of staccato, reverberating through Sylvanas’ entire body.

Sylvanas sighed in wholly realised pain – she barely believed it but she was too tired to follow up on that stream of thought.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Vereesa and Nathanos get intimate, Jaina thinks about labels, Katherine and Modera grab a bite, Daelin wants to stay oblivious and Sylvanas can't wait for this cruise to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here I am, all safe and sound. Thank you for your patience! I will try to be better about updating in the future. In the mean time, please do not hesitate to tell me if you liked the chapter :)  
> This is all for Kul Tiras for now, onward to glory!

“Where’s Rhonin?” Vereesa broke her gaze away from the slowly flickering street lights of the harbour. It was the deepest night, right before dawn; half the city was about to turn in for the night and the other half was in the process of turning their pillows to the cooler side. The stars above them glowed brighter with each snuffed out candle and oil lamp that stepped down to give way to the northern lights. The sky was alit with colour and it reminded her of all those nights lying on Jaina’s bed, crying about her mother, sympathy crying about Arthas, all the while staring up at Jaina’s ceiling instead of staring at her profile.

“I put him in bed,” Nathanos said and mirrored her form, placing his elbows on the wooden fence that fishermen used to prop up their rods all around the pier. Some of them were still out, looking to catch some nocturnal fish before dawn broke and the first boats of the morning left the harbour, leaving muddy, churning water behind them.

“Did you tuck him in?”

“What am I, his mother?” he huffed and pulled a small leather satchel out of the back pocket of his pants. “I threw a blanket over him. Bloodthistle?”

He took a few leaves out of the satchel and offered them to Vereesa who shook her head in return.

“No, thank you, it makes me a little too wild,” she said. “Besides, you sat on it for three hours and that doesn’t make it very appealing.”

“Crushing them actually makes them more potent,” Nathanos said and popped a leaf into his mouth. “You know, some tribes put meat under the saddle of a horse to soften it before cooking.”

“Imagine someone slapping a steak on your back and then sitting on it,” Vereesa said. “I am kind of glad I’m not a horse.”

“Kind of?” Nathanos said. “Impressive how you can say these things while completely sober.”

“Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Vereesa said with a grin. “You don’t even look drunk and that’s impressive too. I don’t know why Rhonin insisted on ordering so many rounds.”

“I do. He thought I had a chance with the barmaid,” he said and fished some more leaves out of his satchel. “He thought if he called her over enough times I’d eventually chat her up. Get some banter going.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“What’s the point?” Nathanos shrugged. “We are leaving tomorrow. The best I could get out of that is a quick shag with someone I don’t know. You’re not the only one who doesn’t fancy that.”

Vereesa watched a fisherman struggle to reel in his catch, his figure doubling over as if he was trying to lift an entire murloc family, their friends and business partners as well out of the water. 

She gripped the railing harder, the edges of the wood leaving dents in her palms, and she screwed her eyes shut – a touch of fingers marking her with deep red blood on her jaw, down her neck, curling into the collar of her brigandine, grasping it as if it was an anchor to life itself–

The wind picked up and brushed a few of her locks into her face. She shook herself.

“I don’t know what I fancy,” she said after a beat. “In terms of...well, _shagging_.”

“I figured,” Nathanos said. “Well, do you _need_ to know?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you in a hurry to shag someone?” he said and stuffed the satchel back in his pocket. “You were mostly fine for the last few centuries, were you not?”

“I want to...I want to–” Vereesa stumbled over her words and then stopped altogether. For a minute or two, they watched as the fisherman, now accompanied by his friends, finally hauled his catch onto the pier: a sizeable north sea sturgeon instead of a bouquet of murlocs.

“I want to make sure she’s fine,” she finished eventually and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I want to know that she’s working through all that happened to her.”

Nathanos hummed but did not comment otherwise and did not ask her to elaborate, and Vereesa appreciated that. As Anya’s right-hand man, he was well aware of the too-grateful dragon queen slipping through their security like a hot knife through butter. 

“Then maybe focus on her,” he said and pushed himself away from the fence. “Instead of trying to cram years-worth of self-reflection into a two-day period. Just my two cents.”

“I’ll think on that,” Vereesa said and gave him a half-baked smile. “Thanks, Nate.”

“Anytime,” he said and saluted her. “I’m going to check on Rhonin. I hope he didn’t choke on his own vomit.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_Yesterday my body would not take my direct and explicit orders to stay awake at least until I have finished both of your letters._

_Pray tell me, how should I expect anything of my troops if I cannot even regulate my own self?_

_I am disappointed and pained by this betrayal._

Jaina huffed out a laugh and regretted it immediately as pain spiked behind her eyelids.

She was never drinking again.

She read Sylvanas’ letter from the start again. Perhaps this was another part of the elven condition: self-deprecation, playful melodrama and sarcasm. These three lines made her wonder just how much Kael’thas had rubbed off on Sylvanas in the last few thousand years (hopefully not too much) and what that presumed influence meant for their relationship. 

_Future relationship._

She made a conscious effort to tone down her own wishful thinking.

_Possible future relationship of a romantic kind._

Maybe it was time to clarify a few things with Sylvanas.

_Even more so I am disappointed that my duties forced me to be up and awake at these unlawful hours. I am almost certain there is nothing legal happening at four o’clock in the morning. Three o’clock is a much better time in my experience: that is when upstanding citizens crawl over to royal apothecaries for hangover aid._

_However, I write to you not to complain. I wish to tell you that my resolve grows weaker with every letter you send me and I loathe to think of the weeks ahead that I must spend on military strategy instead of scientific discourse. Yet, I am thankful regardless of my sorry state for I can finally spend time on the one thing that has been most on my mind as of late: my campaign to understand the person you are underneath all the superficialities that tend to draw my attention a little too well in your presence. In that sense, I consider our distance a minor grace._

Jaina rolled on her back to look at her clock on the wall – it was quarter to five; it felt comforting and even intimate to know what these sentences were fresh out of Sylvanas’ quill. The paper was dry but still smelled of ink and Jaina could imagine Sylvanas’ long fingers curling over the shaft of a hawkstrider feather, hunching over her writing desk at – maybe Windrunner Spire? 

_I admit I have read your fears about meeting your parents with some trepidation. I believe I understand it and once even shared a lot of your feelings. While I offer you commiseration and support, I would hate for you to think I wish to live vicariously through you. I have no option to reconcile with my parents, not anymore, and I shall try my best to not project my own regrets onto you._

_These are notions I haven’t had to confront in years and I find myself vulnerable in the face of your honesty. I only hope that however you expect your meeting to go, your parents shall avoid becoming a source of new resentment and pain on your plate._

_In any event, I suppose it might be fruitful to lock our dear peacock up in his cabin for the night instead of introducing him to your mother. Unless, of course, diplomacy demands it._

_I do not see how his contribution to your dinner would be of any help with his, shall I say, dividing personality. I presume the Lady Proudmoore has little patience for quel’dorei frivolity and Kael’thas paving the way for me leaves me with rather tragic chances for a good first impression._

_If I have any chance at all._

Jaina let out a short laugh, broken up by her palm quickly clasped over her mouth. Sylvanas would’ve been delighted to know that she had predicted exactly what had happened the previous evening with surgical precision.

_I loved to read about your sailing adventures with Daelin, even if their memory is now marred with bittersweet nostalgia. What a thankful duty it is to be a father who can embody the role of the indulgent parent so naturally, the one favoured by the children, the one who does not have to get lost in the labyrinth of discipline. I do not envy your mother and neither do I envy my own for she had my father as a partner and his way of loving us was leniency so rampant it bordered on carelessness._

_The singular reason why I lived to tell about my childhood was Alleria, my mother in place of my mother, who would not let me break my neck no matter how many times I decided to ride for a fall._

Jaina had half the mind to stalk over to her parents’ bedroom (she was almost sure she wouldn’t interrupt anything) and show that paragraph to her mother. Sylvanas’ womanhood might not have made her an ideal candidate to share Jaina’s life in any other capacity than of an intimate platonic best friend but Jaina figured that if anything could soften her mother’s heart, it was that succinct summary of her plight. 

_I am riding out to Silvermoon at sunrise, hence I must cut my letter short, despite having way too much to say still. Time has run away with me._

_I am wishing you all the best, including some well-earned alone time to conduct your scientific research. If Vereesa does not get the clue, just tell her to “go and feed Carrot”._

_I am looking forward to hearing from you soon._

  
  


_Love,_

_Sylvanas_

_p.s.: While I enjoy our letters, I must confess I miss your voice. I hope you also miss me butchering your name with my accent._

  
  


~~~

  
  


Jaina raised her hand to push the dining-room door open but muted noises coming from the room stopped her in mid-air, a quick staccato discussion or an argument desperately kept civil, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to interrupt or get caught up in it. All she wanted was to get to the small joint kitchen the servants used to keep their dishes warm, and make herself an enormous cup of coffee with enough sugar and milk to constitute a meal or two. Maybe a vial of horse tranquiliser too, if her mother kept any around. 

She pressed the side of her face into the wood, her headache pulsing through her like a distant dying star trying to sputter out some last celestial evidence that she was there and she existed.

“Would you like one of my prunes?”

“If I wanted a prune I would get a prune myself.”

“Perhaps you should.” Jaina identified the voice as Modera’s. “It is my secret weapon against ageing.”

“Oh, you wield it? It doesn’t much show,” said her mother, clipped and impatient. “Maybe what needs pruning is your personality – it has overgrown your station.”

To Jaina’s surprise, Modera laughed, heartily and drifting dangerously close to a cackle, and said, “I missed you so. You are an exceptional woman to loathe.”

That sounded like the perfect moment to break their rhythm before they got into another one of their plate-throwing fights and screamed right up the entire keep.

“Good morning,” Jaina said as she stepped into the room that was unreasonably bright for such an early hour. The rays of the morning sun were hitting the east-facing windows at full power and Jaina felt her head split into two.

She looked over the pair of Katherine and Modera, occupying seats on opposite ends of the table, looking equal amount dreary and irritated, both of them made up as if the hour somehow wasn’t six o’clock on a leisurely weekend. Katherine was leafing through what looked like a gossip magazine and Modera was sizing up a bowl full of prunes, imported from the continent along with the almonds and cashews and walnuts. 

“Hangover?” she added.

“You know it very well that I never get those,” Katherine said but her limestone-white face said otherwise. Modera just shrugged in admittance. “Drinking is in our blood, for better or worse.”

“Well, my head is killing me. What a way to learn that I’m adopted,” Jaina drawled and peeked into the two pitchers on the table: one of milk and one of steaming coffee. Her mother cracked a sliver of a smile and then covered it up with a purse of her lips when Modera opened her mouth to speak.

“Actually, the liver degrades with age too, I heard,” Modera said. “Funnily enough, prunes–”

“I advise you against finishing that sentence,” Katherine cut her off.

Modera gave her a sickeningly sweet smile and moved her utensils to the right side of her plate.

“Well, Kat, thank you for the lovely meal and your even lovelier company,” she said and waited for Jaina’s slight nod before she stood up. “I should ready myself.”

They watched her march away with her measured, crisp steps, always just a tad too fast to be comfortable, and then turned back to the table as the door swang shut. Jaina poured herself a mug of coffee and started to add spoonfuls of sugar. Her mother scoffed after the second one and Jaina rolled her eyes at her before she could stop herself.

“I could wake the cook, you know. She makes a mean omelette,” her mother said, looking up from what looked like the _Gossip Mill_. Jaina narrowed her eyes. “Is that still your favourite? Or do you just eat pure cane sugar now?”

“Yes, that is all they feed us in Dalaran,” Jaina said and added some more sugar just to be spiteful. Her mother mimicked her eye-rolling with deadly accuracy. “I’m having breakfast with Tandred. I have a coupon to the Snug Harbour Inn.”

“Oh, good.” Katherine folded her magazine in half and put it back on the table, next to a pile of pamphlets and newspapers. “Would you tell him to come home already? I swear he acts like I want to execute him.”

“I shall if you promise to talk to him like an adult,” Jaina said and filled the rest of her mug with milk. 

“Please, he’s hardly an adult,” she ground out and took a sip of her coffee – black, Jaina presumed. 

“And that hardly matters,” Jaina noted. “You certainly don’t consider me an adult either. Nevertheless, I would like to be treated as one anyway.”

Katherine placed her cup back on its saucer and said, “Don’t be vague, say what you want to say.”

Jaina stirred her coffee, banging the spoon against the side of her mug, and Katherine winced at the shrill noise, her eyebrows threading together in distaste.

“How do you know about Sylvanas?” Jaina said. “We have been rather discreet.”

“Debatable,” Katherine said and pulled a magazine out of the pile to push it towards Jaina. “Here.”

Jaina glanced at it briefly and frowned.

“Since when do you speak Thalassian?”

“I don’t,” Katherine said easily and Jaina took the paper in her hand to flip through the pages. It was a tabloid from Silvermoon from a week ago, the kind she had seen at newsvendors all around the city. Colourful, garish and intrusive in rotten ways that made Jaina curl her lips in disgust. “I have a translator.”

“Since when do you read garbage like this?”

“Since Kul Tiras is an island and we get world news with a delay of two weeks,” her mother said. “I have always read what the people have to say. I would be a fool not to.”

Jaina bit her lips to keep the accusations inside as she trained her gaze on an ‘opinion piece’ about the personal affairs of the Ranger-General of Quel’Thalas, a two-page spread right in the middle of the magazine, adorned with unflattering caricatures of Sylvanas and various unnamed women, most of them decidedly underdressed for any occasion that didn’t involve a bed. _Or a couch_.

“What is your point?”

“My point is that I don’t keep tabs on you. I don’t need to,” Katherine said. “Was it not your worry? That I spy on you?”

“It wasn’t a baseless assumption,” Jaina said and quickly skimmed the page. “Besides, all this says is that we took a stroll at the bazaar and, yes, that’s correct – we did share pretzels. Not my most scandalous moment, is it?”

“Well, it wasn’t a baseless assumption on my part either,” Katherine said and raised her cup at Jaina. “And you confirmed it.”

Jaina closed her eyes, took a deep and shaky breath and contemplated whether to laugh hysterically or to tip over the table with an elegant motion, letting all the silverware slide off, the pitchers topple over, the remaining prunes roll in myriad directions on the hardwood floor. She ended up with a nervous laugh and her face buried in her hands.

“You bluffed me,” she said. “I can’t believe you bluffed me.”

“Have I taught you nothing?” Katherine said and the corners of her mouth threatened with a smile. Jaina wished for nothing more than her mother making good on that threat.

Jaina curled the hand on her cheek into a fist and then huffed into it, the potent mixture of her shame and anger still trying to convince her to pull on the tablecloth or to throw her mug against the wall for dramatic effect. She did neither. 

“I would rather not have to wade through a swamp of inane gossip just to learn what my daughter gets up to,” Katherine said. “It’s not an ideal investment of my time.”

Jaina’s fist trembled as her nails pushed into her skin. She flexed her fingers before she could hurt herself.

“Well, you don’t have to. You have the envelope, you can ask all your questions,” she said and allowed a stubborn tear to escape the corner of her eye. “I took the first step. You have the take the next one.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


“Her name is Sylvanas Windrunner,” Jaina said and cut off a bite-sized bit of her omelette and then piled some roasted cherry tomatoes on her fork.

The Snug Harbour Inn must’ve had been renovated since she had last been there (with Arthas, she realised with some discomfort) because the wood flooring had been replaced with stone tiles and the walls had parted with the ominously man-shaped stains they had had on them. It was an almost respectable establishment.

“Sylvanas Windrunner,” Tandred tried her name and made a face. “I swear elves have the funniest names.” 

“Well, Dad named you ‘Tandred’ when ‘Tancred’ was a perfectly normal and available name,” Jaina said and popped a grilled mushroom in her mouth. 

“Ouch, fair,” Tandred said and sopped up some of the olive oil left on his plate with a piece of bread, not letting anything go to waste. “How did you two meet? Is she part of Kael’thas’ entourage?”

“No. She is Vereesa’s older sister”–Jaina watched as Tandred went through his plate with another chunk of bread–“You know we can just order more, right?”

“This is the best part of any meal.”

Jaina nodded and said, “I’ve told you about Vereesa, right?” 

“A few hundred times only,” Tandred said and accompanied his words with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “But that’s nice then. She was vetted and verified. Would you say she _came_ recommended?”

Jaina gave him some good old Proudmoore stink eye over her fork and Tandred was decent enough to blush a little.

“Yes, Tandred, if you must know this, I am an adult woman and–”

“No!” Tandred yelped and slapped his palms over his ears. “It was just a joke! I don’t want to know that!”

“The joke is on you,” Jaina said. “I wouldn’t tell you anyway but seeing you squirm was all worth it.”

“You’re evil,” he mumbled and nodded at the barmaid, a tall and beautiful woman, whom Jaina would’ve found alluring at another time. She gave their pair a smile and made her way over to them.

“Thank you for dropping by,” Tandred drawled in a tone what Jaina assumed to be his version of seduction. The barmaid made no indication that she cared in any way. It was embarrassing. “I would like to send my love and admiration to the chef.”

“You know it very well that I’m the one cooking today,” she said and took his plate with a sigh.

“In that case, I would like to order some more eggs and bacon.” Tandred winked at her and Jaina wanted the earth to swallow her whole. “But if you’ve run out, I’ll eat whatever you recommend.” 

“Eggs and bacon. You got it, Captain,” the barmaid said with more than a hint of sarcasm and turned to Jaina. “Are you satisfied with your order, darling? Can I get you anything else?”

“It is lovely,” Jaina said and tried to convey as much honest apology as her face could handle without breaking, “and no, thank you.”

When the barmaid was out of earshot Jaina turned back to Tandred and said, “You’re a moron.”

“What?” he said. “She liked it. She called me ‘captain’.”

“She did _not_ like it,” Jaina ground out. “Who taught you how to talk to women? Dad?”

Tandred shrugged, red as the roasted tomatoes still on Jaina’s plate, and that told Jaina everything she had never wanted to know.

“Dad is charming. You are sleazy,” she said. “If you don’t know the difference, go ask Mom. She knows more about women than either of you ever will.”

“I want for nothing less than to talk about girls with Mom,” Tandred moaned and ran his hands through his shaggy hair.

“Oh, you and me both,” Jaina murmured.

“How did she…have you–” Tandred tripped over his words and Jaina cut him off gently.

“I told her,” she said and sprinkled some more red pepper flakes on her eggs. “Shockingly, I have lived. If anything, it wasn’t enough to take her mind off you.”

“Oh, man.” Tandred pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s still crabby about those ships?”

“She is not _crabby_ ,” Jaina said. “She is thinking about taking your title and giving it back to me.”

The barmaid came back with a new plate for Tandred and he muttered his thanks without meeting her eyes. Jaina exchanged a look of deep understanding with the barmaid, one that told of an ocean of shared context and misery.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Tandred said after the barmaid left, his voice full of cheer unfitting the mood.

Jaina dropped her fork and it hit her plate with a sharp clang. She exhaled slowly, picked it back up and raised her eyes to Tandred’s face, a picture of nonchalance.

“No, that’s not good. Are you doing this on purpose?”

Tandred pursed his lips as he cut up his bacon into tiny pieces, then he did the same with his runny eggs, turning his meal into a gooey, bright yellow mess. 

“Maybe,” he said in the end, unwilling to meet her gaze. “As the last resort, I was never offered the chance to decide what I want, was I?”

“Well, this is a very mature solution,” Jaina said and dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

“You would know,” Tandred snapped at her and then crammed his mouth full of food in an attempt to get out of the conversation.

“Dad is only fifty-three, Tan,” Jaina relented. “You’re rebelling against something that shouldn’t be your problem for twenty years at least. Hopefully more.”

“Fine. I’ll try to learn a thing about subtlety,” he said. “But only because you’re somehow more annoying than Mom.”

“Now that’s a filthy lie,” Jaina said. “We can continue this conversation when I get back from Kalimdor. Just know that this shan’t be my first stop.”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“I’ll wipe that smile off your face any minute now.”

~~~

“Ah, I wish you could stay longer,” Daelin said and squeezed Jaina’s shoulders yet again, for the sixth time in five minutes, and Jaina estimated that she was at least ten per cent ground meat by then, perhaps more. “We couldn’t even sail together and that’s a tradition!”

Jaina decided against mentioning how much sailing she was already looking at and how much she wasn’t looking forward to any of it. She settled on a toothy grin because her father’s spirit was infectious.

“I can make it up to you next summer,” she said.

“You know you don’t have to wait that long,” Daelin said and patted her back. 

They watched as Anya’s troops rolled barrels of freshwater and wine up the planks that led to the main deck of the _Sungrace._ She could make out Vereesa and Rhonin carrying a large wooden box that was either full of apples or dried fish, she couldn’t tell, and Kael’thas was supervising this endeavour by standing around and looking particularly unhelpful. Modera and Anya were nowhere to be seen and Jaina figured that was for the best.

“I have never thought I could get rid of Prissy in time,” came her mother’s voice from behind them and they turned in unison. Jaina felt an overwhelming wave of an unidentified emotion at the sight of her mother on the pier, her silver hair out of its usual bun, flying behind her like a flag in the strong seaward wind. “Apparently, your brother set off fireworks on her roof an hour ago and her prized lap-dog ran away. She is understandably upset.”

“Tides, no,” Jaina felt her hangover return with vengeance with a pinprick headache behind her eyes. “Fantastic.”

“Fireworks?” Daelin mused. “In the morning? What an odd choice.”

“Do you reckon he has some issues with his brain matter?” Katherine said and moved to stand besides Jaina. “Perhaps he lacks one?”

“I’m sure he’ll grow out of it,” Daelin said jovially. “I wasn’t much better at his age either.”

“No, that’s, no–” Jaina groaned. “Nevermind. I wash my hands of this. I tried, Mother, and I clearly failed.”

Katherine let her eyes roam Jaina’s face, her steel-cold gaze was now a degree or two warmer than she was used to, and Jaina did not shrink away from it. Daelin whistled the tune of a shanty, oblivious to the tension between them, and then, after what seemed like an entire hour, Katherine reached out to touch Jaina’s hand, ever-so-briefly. 

Jaina chased after her and hooked their little fingers together, in a gesture that felt both comical and childlike and it earned her a smile so unexpected she almost let a sob break through her.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Sylvanas extorts people in the name of love and proceeds to face her demons also in the name of love (and personal growth). A beautiful morning in the life of everyone's favourite gay general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Turns out, commuting is bad for writing! A hypothesis I've never wanted to prove.  
> Back to life, back to the levity. Have a little Sylvanas before we get back into the whole Kalimdor business.  
> Throwback to Chapter 7 when I said something about Liadrin. If you caught it, good job, if not, you will now :)  
> Thank you SO much for your comments, I live for them, they motivate me even when everything in my life tells me to sacrifice myself on the altar of capitalism.

_Dear Sylvanas,_

  
  


_Thank you for your letter – unfortunately, it did not arrive on time to relay all your much-appreciated advice as I had already conducted my meeting with my parents last night. It was questionably successful._

_However, it came just in time to help me find vigour for this day after yesterday’s rather taxing events. My body and my mind had both been drained and now I am spirited again._

_Kael’thas was exactly as much help as you had predicted. Yet, it would be disingenuous of me to put all the blame on him for our disastrous dinner. I was, after all, just as much at fault, if not more._

_The official retraction of his courtship had not reached Boralus by the time we did and I was not eager enough to correct that misunderstanding at the first chance._

_You may ask yourself: why would the Jaina I know resort to such cowardly games?_

_Well, I suppose, because she is a coward._

_I witnessed the strangest of things – my mother was, in her own way, cordial with Kael’thas, a gesture I could only interpret as a peace offering._

_I was not ready to ruin that well-coveted, perfect moment with the truth._

_Then again, how could a farce ever come close to perfection?_

_How could I covet it if I could not share that moment with you?_

_Maybe I am overly sentimental and overly familiar but I shall not apologise for it. I believe we might just be past the point where I could convincingly pretend to be unaffected by everything that you are. I am deeply, deeply affected and I am richer for it._

Sylvanas squeezed out a sigh between her lips and her breath almost whistled past her teeth. She had her back against the wall of one of the many alcoves that adorned the hallways of the palace with tall lead glass windows nested in them, overlooking the spacious inner garden that had welcomed many parties, wedding ceremonies and assassination attempts on the royal family, depending on the time of the year. The white marble tiling of the windowsill looked almost golden in the diffused mid-morning light, and the paper of Jaina’s letter was thin enough to be transparent in the sun, just as transparent as Sylvanas felt then.

Jaina’s letter felt hurried and raw as if she had only had a few minutes to scrawl her ideas down. It lacked her usual deliberation and her handwriting was even more tragic than Sylvanas had come to expect from her, with entire lines scratched out and forgotten letters added later as an afterthought. Sylvanas thought it was quite possibly the most beautifully honest thing she had ever seen.

_Nevertheless, that predicament in which I had put myself made me understand that I cannot live a lie. My parents may find the truth inconvenient at best and abhorrent at worst but I could never do so._

_I could never._

_My integrity is more important than their feelings. At the end of the day, integrity is all I have and I prefer to look into a mirror without an urge to spit on my reflection._

_I feel shame and anger at myself for every minute of charade in which I participated but I rested easy last night knowing that I fixed at least some of that mess._

_I have told my mother about us. Do not think me so brave – she forced my hand and I granted her that victory. However, when it came to the point of expected denial I did not step up to the plate._

_But what is “us”, Sylvanas?_

_Is there an “us”?_

_Am I too bold to think in plural?_

Sylvanas snorted at that, loudly, and two early-bird sycophants of Anasterian, who were whispering in an alcove on the other side of the hallway, looked at her accusingly, as though she had personally strangled their family cat. 

The notion that Jaina, bold and ever-confident in writing, would consider a declaration of romantic intent too bold in light of everything else they had done was amusing at the very least. A chuckle slipped her against herself.

One of the courtiers seemed intent on cussing her out, so she pushed the hood of her cape back and nodded at their pair, to which they answered in the only respectable way: they quickly switched their scowls out for saccharine smiles and left to find a more secluded alcove somewhere farther along the corridors where they wouldn’t be bothered by Ranger-Generals giggling like schoolgirls. Sylvanas scoffed at herself because someone had to do that job now that she was all by her lonesome.

_I can only ascertain my own feelings and upon some inspection, I can say with great confidence that I wish to court you or to be courted by you. Perhaps we could do it simultaneously? It would not quite be the strangest elven custom I have ever encountered._

_I wish not to place pressure on you if pressure makes you break. I do hope it only makes you bend._

_Awaiting your reply with some healthy and reasonable eagerness,_

  
  


_Love,_

_Jaina_

  
  


Sylvanas folded the letter in half with hands shaky enough to rival a hypothermia victim and placed it in the in-seam pocket of her cape. 

_I can say with great confidence that I wish to court you or to be courted by you._

She stared at her hands, at the tremors that ran along the length of her fingers, appearing almost out of nowhere, and she wanted to scoff a little again. It was unmistakable – they were the jitters of a wild heart broken free to lay waste to her self-control, and they only ever made an appearance when she was angry. Or, she realised after a moment, _excited_.

For a minute or two, she waited for the fear to come, the doubt to sink its claws into her, the dread of abandonment, of loss – and then the minutes had passed and none had come. Only she remained and the letter in her pocket, burning a hole through her skin. Then, from the recesses of her brain, an idea came forth that bypassed her logic and pulled rank on her propriety, one that was sheer, unadulterated selfishness and she could barely wait to see it come to life.

She slid off the windowsill and took her orders out from her bag.

  
  


~~~

  
  


“I am rather busy,” Rommath said with a sigh that carried just enough resentment along with its standard cargo of exasperation to make Sylvanas arch an eyebrow at him in question. “Can’t it–”

“I shall only take fifteen minutes of your time,” she said and lowered her hand that had never had the chance to knock on the frame of his door. “Even you can take a break sometimes.”

Rommath turned his nose up at her in response and moved the scroll he was holding up to block Sylvanas’ line of sight. She could bet good money that he was giving her the evil eye.

“I do _not_ need a break and no – I do not like you very much right now,” he said, “and _yes_ , it is because I know you are about to ruin my day.”

“Ruin your day?” Sylvanas stepped farther into his small, oval office adorned by a tangle of plants that desperately needed to be regulated by a less indulgent owner, speckled with stones and crystals and polished clamshells. She undid the top button of her shirt – she had no idea how Rommath could hide under his thick robes in such pressing humidity that made her wonder if all that perspiration was the water in the air finding a permanent seat on her skin or just her own sweat. She had no clue, only hope.

“Well, you only make a social call once in a century and you have already checked that off with Liadrin’s bachelorette party,” Rommath said and dropped the scroll on his table with another sigh, this time one of reluctant surrender. Sylvanas shuddered at that memory. “Thus, I presume you have a task for me. One that absolutely _cannot_ wait.”

“Quite wrong, Magister,” Sylvanas said and grinned at him. “I have _two_ tasks for you and both of them are time-sensitive.”

Rommath looked ready to sputter out an insult or two but he swallowed it down and moved to stand up, the legs of his heavy armchair creaking against the floor.

“I have handwritten orders from His Majesty for you to set up translocation orbs to Quel’Danil Lodge and Dalaran in a month’s time,” Sylvanas said and watched on as Rommath organised the papers on his desk into neat stacks while avoiding her gaze. “I am tasked to pester you about it and make sure you have everything you need to finish on time.”

“What I _need_ is to not be pestered by you or anyone else,” he murmured and finally looked up, his eyes burning with annoyance. Sylvanas suppressed a smile; Rommath was all bark and no bite and she somewhere admired that commitment to being so unpleasant for unpleasantness’ sake. “And, of course, I need to contact Master Antonidas and – who is in charge of the lodge again?”

“Ranger Jalinde,” Sylvanas supplied. 

“Oh, a _ranger._ Wonderful,” Rommath huffed. “I’m sure she is most versed in the matters of transmutation. As per usual, I’m looking forward to solving this issue on my own.”

“Good. His Majesty shall be happy to hear about your professional attitude and well-earned confidence in your abilities,” Sylvanas said and waited for a beat. Rommath, expectedly, narrowed his eyes and flushed red. “My other task is more of a request of the personal kind.”

“Now, that is _much_ more enticing,” he said and his angry blush softened as he gestured at his bright red loveseat. “I would love to have you owe me favours. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Sylvanas refused his offer with an easy wave of her hand. She wasn’t keen on Rommath and, as far as she was aware, the feeling was mutual but perhaps not mutual enough to stop Rommath from talking her ears off about the banalities of his research and his complete lack of love life, and she couldn’t risk that.

“I cannot stay long so I shall get to the point,” she said. “I would like you to evaluate the chances of creating portable orbs of translocation.”

“Preposterous!” Rommath spat and grabbed one of his stacks of papers only to slam it back onto the table. Some of his scrolls tumbled down to the floor and his small bronze statue of a particularly dashing Dath’Remar Sunstrider that he used as a paperweight toppled over with a clang. “Our orbs rely on leylines, how would you suggest I power it without one?”

“Well, I do not know. That is why I’m charging you with it instead of carving crystal balls myself,” Sylvanas said, unfazed by his outburst, as she leaned over to straighten up the Dath’Remar statue. “Why don’t you research hearthstones? People have been using them for thousands of years.”

“Hearthstones are incredibly rare,” Rommath said. “Besides, it’s a completely different technology. You might as well ask a horticulturist to milk a cow.”

“Perhaps, turning your analytical eye towards the one in your pocket might give you some inspiration”–Rommath’s face drained of colour and Sylvanas noted that with a small burst of satisfaction–“Don’t look so shocked. It’s a security risk and, therefore, it is in my interest to know about it.”

“Fine, blackmail me,” he groaned. “How last century of you.”

“Not blackmail,” she said and grinned at his scrunched up face, his displeasure at full display even with his collar covering his jaw and mouth. “Just an act of good faith.”

He squinted at her and turned his chin up as he said, “You want discretion. You want me to make a highly illegal object for you, one that could be used to move enemy armies into Silvermoon, and you want me to be discreet about it.”

Sylvanas had to laugh at the utter absurdity and hypocrisy of that statement and Rommath didn’t seem pacified by that at all.

“Must you be so dramatic? It shouldn’t have to be said that if I were the one planning to overthrow His Majesty, we would be quite doomed,” she said as the last bursts of residual laughter died down in her. “It is for a single person, not an army. I need it for a round trip to Windrunner Spire if you must know”–she picked his scrolls off the floor and handed them back to him–“You can destroy the orb afterwards I’m done with it.”

“I might look into this. Some day when I have the time,” Rommath said eventually and sit back down in his chair, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles of his robes. “I might need more incentive, however, to find the motivation necessary. As I said I’m rather busy, not like you had any compassion for me or respect for my work.”

Sylvanas inclined her head as she looked down at him – anxious and defensive and spiteful Rommath, so very selfish yet so very incapable of realising any of his desires – and smiled. He was very kind to lay his soul bare so readily. 

“I am certain you’re aware that I’m close friends with the Lady Proudmoore,” she said.

“I read the news like everyone else,” he said and Sylvanas knew it for a fact that he meant he obsessively went through every magazine and pamphlet possible, especially if the topic was Kael’thas Sunstrider’s escapades of the romantic kind.

“Well, you should know that my interest in her is beyond mere friendship,” she said and flattened the corners of her mouth as they were already curling into a silly smile. “And I am hopeful to believe she feels the same.”

Rommath’s ears perked up at that and he couldn’t hide the smug smile that spread across his face. Well, Sylvanas assumed it did, when he said, “How truly beautiful. But what about Kael’thas?”

“Kael’thas had told me that I should make my courtship official with her,” she said and that wasn’t a lie. “I am afraid he won’t quite give up on his affections until I do so.”

 _That_ was a lie. At any other time, she would have felt guilty about it but Rommath wanted to be difficult, he wanted incentive and she would give him an incentive. If she knew him at all, she was sure that the tragic and relatable picture of a forbidden romance and the chance to ruin Jaina and Kael’thas’ never-been affair was the perfect hook. Exclusive gossip and some blackmail material? Only oil to his flame.

“And you wish to ask for her hand in person,” Rommath said and Sylvanas opted not to correct him because he had a hunger about him and she wanted to feed it.

“You must understand how sensitive this matter is,” she said and Rommath was already nodding along. “I feel like I need to make my intentions clear before politics could force us apart.”

“Yes, of course, how could I not understand?” Rommath said and he started to reorganise his scrolls in a new order, his eyes already clouding up with a multitude of ideas taking hold of him. Sylvanas knew it was time for her to take her leave. “Thank you for trusting me with this – I shall, of course, I shall try to come up with a solution as soon as possible. As soon as possible!”

“Thank you, I owe you one,” she said and turned away. “Let me know when you’re ready to port to Dalaran and Quel’Danil. I shall assemble an entourage for you.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Sylvanas froze with her hand still on Rommath’s door. Time was sputtering to a halt as her nails dug crescents into the oak (Rommath would definitely throw a fit about that but his delicate sensibilities meant less than nothing to Sylvanas in the face of life-threatening danger). There was a nightmarish presence, she could sense it – all the fine hairs on her arms moved to stand in a salute, her skin broke out in a thin layer of cold sweat and her lower lip disappeared under the bite of her teeth as she worried over it. For a brief, delirious moment she considered stepping back into Rommath’s office to hide.

“Are you already drunk?” the voice behind her inquired, cool and oh-so-aloof and it came from up high, definitely from a very tall figurative horse. Sylvanas wondered if the Light conveniently looked away every time its priests fell for the sway of condescension. Sins and vices were for other people, surely. “You could at least wait until noon.”

“I’m not _drunk_ , Liadrin,” Sylvanas managed to grind out as she spun around to face her. 

She was still severe as ever with her face perpetually pulled into an unimpressed frown as if she was forced to witness Sylvanas tripping and rolling down a flight of stairs in every single moment of every single day, on an unending loop. 

“There’s a peculiar sway to you,” Liadrin said and leaned against the door that led to Magister Belo’vir’s office. Sylvanas had to admit that she cut a sharp figure in her dark suit jacket and tailored pants and, for once, she was thankful for that visual that would’ve crushed her heart into smithereens any other day – the priest robes tended to unnerve her even more. There was a small and self-important voice in her head telling her that somehow she was the reason for her turn towards the Light, for better or worse, and then she shooed it away like she would with a pesky fly.

“I was thrown into vertigo by your evil aura,” Sylvanas drawled. 

“I’m sure you can do better than that,” Liadrin said and folded her arms. Sylvanas looked away with a sigh. Those biceps were still a sore spot in her heart. 

“I can certainly do better than you,” Sylvanas said. “And I have.”

Liadrin laughed at that. Well, it was her version of a laugh at least, a low and husky “heh” accompanied by a nonchalant nod and maybe a quirk of an eyebrow if she was feeling charitable enough to bestow her graces that day. She was not.

“Well, congratulations,” Liadrin said and Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “Contrary to popular belief I do actually care about your happiness.”

“I am terribly sorry that publicly dumping me for two other women hurt your reputation,” Sylvanas said and she folded her arms too.

“That is a gross oversimplification,” Liadrin started and pushed herself away from the door to step closer to Sylvanas. “There was never any overlap and you know this too.”

“Well, that’s not what the public said,” Sylvanas pointed out.

“To be honest,” Liadrin said, “The ‘public’ part was rather unplanned and under negotiated and I did not enjoy any of that. I wasn’t prepared to become the enemy of the state overnight.”

“To be honest,” Sylvanas said and mirrored her. “I think your high-profile double divorce made everyone forget about it–”

“I missed you,” Liadrin blurted out. “You are the only person I can trust to take a bite out of me at eight in the morning.”

“Just marry someone new,” Sylvanas said and waved her hand for emphasis. Well, lack of emphasis – this whole business did not matter to her, after all. _Absolutely trivial._ “I would suggest someone who hates you so they can always be around to feed your fixations.”

“I didn’t know you hated me,” Liadrin said and the minute clenching of her jaw was a tell-tale sign that she was at least somewhat upset by Sylvanas. _Or annoyed._ There was an ugly, unbecoming joy to that idea and Sylvanas was moments away from letting it take her hostage.

“I was not suggesting myself,” Sylvanas said. “Find someone with a little less self-worth than I have. I am sure women are lining up in neat rows as per usual.”

“No, I didn’t mean – that’s not what I wanted to...say,” Liadrin, for lack of a better word, _stammered_ and Sylvanas allowed a lazy, satisfied smile to crawl onto her face. “Just...when did we stop talking like normal people?” 

_Exactly forty-eight baskets ago_ , Sylvanas wanted to spat but the words broke apart in her throat and she had to cough. She tried to find all the righteous fury she had stored away to fuel herself against Liadrin; she usually kept it right next to her remorse but found herself running into deadends. There was irritation and there was leftover hurt and there was bitterness too but otherwise, she came up emptyhanded. A momentary lightness of the soul. She was going to blame Jaina for that.

“Would you like a detailed timeline?” Sylvanas said and she had no time to ready herself for the widening of Liadrin’s eyes and the question that erupted from her a single second later.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” Liadrin punched out the words like stabs of a knife and it felt very much like that too. Sylvanas took a step back on instinct. “Strictly as friends, of course.”

“Obviously,” Sylvanas said. “Even if I didn’t find you intolerable I still couldn’t chance anything else for I already have someone in my life.”

“Yes, you have just said,” Liadrin pointed out and Sylvanas hoped she wasn’t blushing.

“Yes, well–” Sylvanas never finished that thought and shrugged instead. 

She was not stupid enough to start gushing about Jaina in the middle of the hallway, in front of Belo’vir’s and Rommath’s offices, the latter no doubt in the process of eavesdropping, even if an irrational part of her prompted her to perform a soliloquy about the most endearing idiosyncrasies of her personality. At least, the ones that she had so far uncovered, and the prospect of finding more left her giddy.

“Shall you apologise to me?” she said eventually. “Is that your intention here?”

Liadrin wasn’t quick to reply. Sylvanas thought she looked downright constipated as they stared each other down. Their gaze was momentarily broken up by a flock of teenaged mage apprentices moving past between them, chattering along about divination.

“I shall,” Liadrin said. “My sole intention is to make amends if such a thing is within the bounds of possibility.”

What a curious thing that was to say and how truly it fit Liadrin’s character: wanting the atonement but not the emotional labour that went into it. Sylvanas thought that if chance hadn’t brought them together right at that moment Liadrin might never have sought her out. She stopped herself – it was an unfair notion brought to life by a grudge that should’ve had stayed long in the past, along with her love.

“I shall be in and out of meetings all day,” Sylvanas said. “Come and find me tomorrow at noon at the training grounds.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Vereesa looks at things (fish, seagull attacks, knives) and considers things (Alexstrasza, women, trauma) and she makes a semi-romantic friend who also likes to look at things and consider things. Nathanos very briefly appears as an Inspirational Figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you love Vereesa, I have good news: this chapter is all Vereesa.  
> If you don't love Vereesa, I have good news: I am almost done with the next chapter and that is all Sylvanas and Liadrin and Jaina.  
> Either way, I would love to hear your opinions on this chapter because I like feedback!

Vereesa nearly dropped the box of brandy she was to pass into Nathanos waiting hands. It slipped from her grip and she needed to dive after it, wedging a knee between it and the ground, a manoeuvre she managed with great success, much like how the box managed to force a yelp out of her upon impact – so embarrassingly loud that it turned heads even by the Snug Harbour Inn and that was at least a good hundred steps northward.

“Are you all right?” Nathanos asked and Vereesa had no idea how to explain to him that the strangest chain of images had just barreled past her and her sudden loss of composure and verticality was quite justified. She nodded and grew a brief, nervous chuckle from a seed of anxiety she had lodged in her chest.

First of all, she had witnessed a hug. She had so far witnessed a great many of those but none had been between Katherine and Jaina Proudmoore, and if she remembered anything at all from her conversations with Jaina, seeing such a phenomenon was the equivalent of finding a four-leaf clover. Or a five-leaf one. She was yet to see a six-leaf one so she left that out of the comparison. That alone was reason enough to drop anything in her hands but the Bizarre only continued on, nonchalant to her quandary, when it introduced her to a sensation of being _measured_ as if someone had put her on a scale and her heart had been found too heavy. 

Vereesa let her gaze roam from the pair of Jaina and Katherine and their stilted hug. Then, her fingers turned to slugs, slippery and uncooperative without giving her any notice upfront and the blame was easy to place: there was a woman perusing the wares of a fisherman on the dock, tall and tanned and dressed in flowing clothes that almost matched Silvermoon fashion in their vibrancy but not in their cut. Vereesa could only imagine those materials and colours in places like Stranglethorn Vale or maybe the legendary deserts of Tanaris. 

That was the moment when her muscles gave out. _Quite justified._

After her chuckle died down and Nathanos almost looked convinced by her act, she passed the crate to him. He went on to examine the status of the bottles, humming to himself about invisible hairline cracks and a “damn waste of some fine liquor”.

“Vereesa,” came Anya’s voice from behind Nathanos, less matter-of-fact and more hoarse than usual. Probably from all that heavy lifting, Vereesa figured. “I told you to go to bed three hours ago. Your shift has long ended. Why do I have to keep reminding you?”

“I am sorry, Captain,” Vereesa said and she willed herself to look Anya in the face. It was not a small task as her eyes were planning a coup against her brain, trying to clasp the reins for once and redirect themselves towards the Woman, who earned a capitalisation in the meantime. “I swear I tried my best but there was simply too much noise. Even for me and I usually sleep like a marmot in winter.”

Anya’s face reddened a little at that and she cleared her throat too, an action that only made her sound more like she was in the throes of a nasty cold. 

“It is a very busy morning, indeed,” she said. “We are moving out in half an hour. Do whatever you want until then but if I see you even touch a single crate, I’ll assign you as His Majesty’s personal guard. We have enough hands and I want you fresh for the night shift.”

“Understood, Captain,” Vereesa said, saluted and checked the gold pocket watch she had found in the hoard Alexstrasza had left her. It was an understated piece with a hunter-case and a chain and cathedral hands, something a gentleman could wear or a naval captain, and she liked the simplicity of it. She had asked for Jaina’s help to reset it but they had come up short; the dial featured two time zones: one pair of displays she had been able to set but the other, smaller display had not budged. With a furrow of her brows, she noted that all four hands were signalling Kul Tiran local time.

She turned her attention back to the pier the moment Anya disappeared in the Captain’s Cabin, with some momentary shame and a twitch of her ears, Sylvanas’ voice in her head yet again telling her she was a busybody. From the barely-caught snippets of their conversation, Vereesa could tell that the woman was trying to guess the length and weight of a smaller sunfish hanging upside down with less than more success that garnered laughs from vendors about. Her voice was a manifest of charm, deep and lilting, a song Vereesa knew already although she had only heard a few notes of it, out of rhythm and poorly performed and hurried out, just in case–

_Thank you for saving my children._

_Thank you for saving me._

_Thank you for saving yourself._

Vereesa’s legs moved her along the planks on their own volition, she was merely a half-aware consciousness carried around in a body that was making a confident beeline between the _Sungrace_ and the suspended sunfish.

“A thousand pounds,” Vereesa announced as she reached the group of sailors and fishermen running a betting pool, “is my guess.”

“Aye, it sure is a big lady,” one of them said and nodded along. “We don’t get them sunfish up here. They like the puddle-warm south seas.”

Vereesa looked at the woman, no – at Alexstrasza, and she looked back at her, and instead of surprise, she greeted her with a smile, as though it was the simplest, most practised motion in the world, as though she had done it countless times before, as though the two of them occupying the same few square feet of space was nothing out of ordinary.

Vereesa felt rather extraordinary at that moment with Alexstrasza appraising her with a new set of eyes, golden-brown and almond-shaped and so-very-warm this time around, that shone with an understanding she had been craving for weeks now, one that burned a straight path through her skin and bones into the very depth of her soul and she could only hope Alexstrasza liked what she found there.

“Are you gonna put some coin to that guess?” asked a hulking, ragged man and Vereesa shook herself out of her reverie. He gestured at the barrel top where they collected the bids – copper and silver coins, a pearl-handled knife and a bottle of Arathi whiskey. “My boys are bringing in the whale scale right about now.”

Vereesa opened her mouth to say that she did not have the time to oversee the weighing but Alexstrasza laid a hand on her wrist to stop her and stop – she did. It was an infinitesimal connection and yet it blasted through her nerves like wildfire.

“I shall finance it,” Alexstrasza said and took her bracelet off to place it on the barrel. “Thousand pounds and I meet it with gold and ruby.”

“Lady, how are we to match that?” one of the sailors complained good-naturedly. 

“You needn’t,” Alexstrasza said. “I have already made my fortune. ‘Tis only for the passion of the game.”

“Would you walk with me?” Vereesa croaked out when the lull in their conversation felt inviting and she was met with whistles and hollers and a few unsavoury suggestions that she was somehow the kept woman of a rich lady. It offended her but probably not for the right reasons. Some of the men were aggressively slapping each other on the back like overexcited children and Vereesa wanted to roll her eyes at their display but it was hard to feel annoyed when Alexstrasza was looking at her.

“Anywhere,” Alexstrasza said and that only earned them a few more whistles from the sailors. Vereesa wanted to offer her arm because it felt like the right thing to do but mayhaps also a thing a little too bold to do, so she clasped her hands behind her back as she had seen from Nathanos. She even matched his constipated facial expression.

“I was thinking perhaps down the pier,” Vereesa said. “And then back.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Alexstrasza said and bowed her head. “I do enjoy walking in a straight line with a clear goal in mind.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I am not actually sure,” Alexstrasza said as they started their stroll. “I think I might be.”

Vereesa had to laugh, she had no choice in the matter, her laughter was coming up in her like a geyser, unstoppable and unrestrained and she felt the same lightness she only got after a lengthy bout of crying, except this way she didn’t have to face a head-splitting headache as well that usually came right after.

She wanted to ask Alexstrasza so many things: How have you been? How did you like Gadgetzan? How much do you really know about sunfish? How come you are here?

What she actually said was, “Boralus?”

“Yes,” Alexstrasza said as if Vereesa was making perfect sense. Vereesa was starting to think she might be. “I realised that I forgot to leave you a return address only after I had left you my-”

“Pile of stuff.”

“It is called a Hoard of Gratitude and”–Alexstrasza stopped and she squinted at Vereesa–“Are you making fun of me?”

“I think I might be,” Vereesa said and the twinkle in Alexstrasza’s eyes made her feel proud and accomplished and _giddy_. “How long have you…when did you arrive?”

“A day before you did, I believe,” she replied. “I confess – I wished to contact you earlier but I saw that you were always otherwise preoccupied. I did not want to interrupt anything lest I became a source of discontent to your friends.”

Vereesa sifted through her memories of Boralus, of her weepy conversation with Rhonin about their kiss, of the entire cabbage fiasco, of Rhonin’s futile but well-meaning attempt at giving love advice, of the barmaid, of the less futile and more practical advice of Nathanos, and she felt her cheeks heat up. She wasn’t sure which one out of those things she wanted Alexstrasza to witness less.

“You could’ve approached me anytime,” she said in the end. “You wouldn’t have interrupted anything.”

“Very well,” Alexstrasza said and she looked like she had a lot more to say but she bit down on all of it before they could escape her.

Instead of pushing her, Vereesa only said, “You look different. A good different, of course, but different.”

“And yet you recognised me,” Alexstrasza noted and hummed. Vereesa thought it sounded like the engine of a gnomish warmachine. “How so?”

Vereesa parsed through her thoughts as they were making their way down the length of the pier, close but never touching, rather appropriate and polite, sometimes broken entirely up by men carrying fish or rolling barrels and deciding that the ideal path is exactly between a pair of women. She could write an essay on the various tells Alexstrasza had: the idiosyncrasies of her accent that sounded odd but never unpleasant, her deep red hair that reminded Vereesa of the women of Quel’Thalas when they dyed their hair with the powder of the privet tree, the constant crease of her eyes, the way her laughter would always come unexpected and broad and powerful, and how she made Vereesa mirror her so effortlessly. 

“I notice the little things,” she ended up saying because it wasn’t a lie but it was vague enough to preserve her sanity. She wondered how long she could put off the questions that led a dogged pursuit of her consciousness when she said, “Are you all shapeshifters, then?”

“An oversimplification but essentially true,” Alexstrasza said and smiled at her with a kindness around the corners of her lips that told Vereesa that she could ask anything and none of it would be any stupid. She was quite used to being stupid by then so that notion came like a slap. “My mortal form is pliable to my will. I enjoy blending in with the local populace, submerging myself in the culture”–they stopped to watch a squabble of seagulls attack a young man for his salted herring sandwich–“I do have certain preferences, however.”

“You don’t prefer Kul Tirans?” Vereesa said after they made sure the man would live another day. Alexstrasza stuck out like an unnecessarily beautiful sore thumb, a traveller from the West or a queen of a trading city in the deep south, and it felt every bit like a statement.

“Not particularly,” Alexstrasza said. “They are charming as most living things are but they tend to lack elegance and style. On my first day here I went to a seamstress and she was near ready to put me in a burlap sack instead of taking my measurements.”

Vereesa drew her eyebrows together. She was the most inelegant thing she could think of; perhaps it was time to ask Modera for fashion advice or a recommendation for a tailor in Dalaran. Maybe, if all of this was over she would get a nice bespoke suit or a sharp dress, something that radiated pure elegance.

As if Alexstrasza could read her thoughts, she added, “Please, do not be mistaken: my preference is only aesthetic. I most enjoy the people here but I’d rather not look the part.”

“I am sure you would be very stylish even if you were a murloc,” Vereesa said and she almost choked on the undeniable truth and the unshakable stupidity of that statement.

“Thank you,” Alexstrasza said simply. “I am sure you too would make a very fine murloc.”

“Oh, thank Belore you complimented me back,” Vereesa said. “Otherwise it might’ve been awkward.”

They reached the end of the pier and stayed there for a few minutes, trailing their eyes along the length of a man-of-war that sailed under the colours of House Proudmoore, anchoring itself before it could run too deep into the shallower waters of the harbour. Vereesa thought of an alternate present where Jaina was a commander of the navy and the heir of Kul Tiras and Vereesa was a regular Farstrider as she was always meant to be and that idea was more bleak and depressing than any of her usual thought experiments.

“Would any of this conversation qualify as ‘awkward’?” Alexstrasza asked and for a moment Vereesa thought it was pure rhetoric in nature but then Alexstrasza looked at her with genuine interest so she ordered her brain around to form some sentences. 

“No,” Vereesa said. “Oddly enough, no. However, I should say, I do not control my own awkwardness so it shall remain looming around, ready to strike whenever.”

“Oh,” Alexstrasza sighed. “Excellent. It may join my nerves and then they shall conduct their looming in unison.”

Part of Vereesa wanted to laugh and an even bigger part of her wanted to break out in a blush as red as Alexstrasza’s hair, maybe even more vivid, because the idea of Alexstrasza being nervous for any reason at all made her want to evaporate from the face of the earth and become a silly-looking cloud up high.

“You are not nervous,” she said. 

“I am too,” Alexstrasza said. “I am in quite deep water here. I used to have a certain confidence, before _everything_ , one that told me that whatever I did, I would float. Hence, I’ve never had to learn to swim.”

That was an elaborate allegory and Vereesa decided that she would not take guesses on it because most of her guesses turned out completely wrong. She was looking forward to Alexstrasza losing her bracelet, too.

“What does swimming mean?” she said. “In this scenario, I mean, I generally know what it means, for the record.”

“It means that I wonder about you,” Alexstrasza sighed out and turned her face away from Vereesa and towards the sea. Vereesa felt an urge to turn her back around so she could see her eyes but she kept her hands to herself. “I wonder about how you _work_. I used to think that my interest in you was solely a side-effect of the gratitude I felt–”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Vereesa cut her off gently and Alexstrasza held up a hand to return the gesture.

“I owe you my _life_ and that’s an ancient contract I shall honour,” she said firmly but not unkindly. “But that is neither here nor there. What occupies me more is this curiosity I cannot shake and you are at the centre of it.”

“I am not a very interesting person,” Vereesa said and she did not lie: she could point out at least five more interesting people just on this pier. “Your curiosity might be misplaced.”

“Except you are,” Alexstrasza said and she snapped her face back to look at her, her eyes glowing with displeasure and dragonfire burning deep in her. “Don’t forget that I saw your soul, Vereesa Windrunner, and I know your makings. I saw you but I do not understand you.”

It was Vereesa’s turn to look away and fold her arms across her chest, hoping that her ranger armour was thick enough that Alexstrasza couldn’t see right through it and couldn’t make out the tiny flutters of her heart. She briefly considered studying the Light and becoming a holy paladin of it because plate armour sounded definitely more dragongaze-repellent than light leather.

“I saw the fear of death in you,” Alexstrasza said. “The true terror that would make the bravest men run away or soil their pants. I have seen both – not very elegant.”

“Well, thank Belore I didn’t do either,” Vereesa murmured to the ocean. “Both were on my agenda, you know.”

“I do,” Alexstrasza said and flattened her palm against Vereesa’s forearm. She could only feel the pressure and it still made her dizzy like a knock on the head with a hammer. “And yet you held onto me when you could’ve saved yourself instead. Why?”

Vereesa wanted to say something profound and genuine about self-sacrifice and the greater good and servitude and righteousness but she couldn’t lie.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t even consider another option. But I know I would do it again, too.”

“Why?”

“I shall tell you when I figure it out,” Vereesa said. “I hope you don’t mind waiting a few centuries because I am not the quickest when it comes to self-realisations.”

Alexstrasza laughed at that and it was neither loud and vibrant nor deep and mellow, it was something Vereesa could only describe as hysterical and it made her take a quick step back. Alexstrasza let her hand drop from her forearm.

“I thought you might say something...empty,” she said and spread two fingers through her eyebrows, either a nervous tick or a way to alleviate a starting migraine. Vereesa was an expert at both. “Empty but motivating, perhaps. Something about Azeroth needing the Life-Binder – needing _me_.”

“Do you want me to say that?” Vereesa whispered. “If you need to hear that, I can do it for you.”

“I do not know what I need,” Alexstrasza said and looked back up at her. “I thought meeting you and seeing how you are moving on with your life would bring me closure as well and, perhaps, a new sense of purpose and...I clearly thought wrong.”

“I am sorry I could not be what you expected,” Vereesa said for the umpteenth time in her life.

“No, you are _wonderful_ ,” Alexstrasza said and Vereesa wanted to believe her. “I am irrational. I do not know how to be myself again and I keep hoping that someone else shall give me the instructions.”

“Have you talked about this with your”–Vereesa cleared her throat–“Husbands? Consorts? Romantic life partners?”

“I am not sure you shall find a word that would fit them correctly,” Alexstrasza said. “Dragon relationships don’t translate well to the affairs of mortals, I’m afraid. Nevertheless, I feel disconnected from them.”

Vereesa nodded and curled her fingers into a fist to stop herself from reaching out to her. Instead, she fished her watch out of her pocket to check the time. 

“I suppose I wanted to talk to someone who saw me at my lowest,” Alexstrasza added. “Without forcing my children to relive those years with me.”

“I could–” Vereesa started and stopped. “I would love to talk to you about Grim Batol or anything, truly. Kul Tiran fashion or sunfish or, or– have you tried their ale yet? I think it tastes like–”

“Soggy bread,” Alexstrasza finished her sentence. “Are you offering your friendship, Vereesa Windrunner?”

Vereesa slowed her steps down to look at the sunfish being hauled up to the “whale scale”, its enormous body shimmering white-blue in the still-low sun, its face petrified into sheer, dumbfounded surprise as if it was just shocked to find out that anyone could even lift it out of the ocean.

“Lady! Yer a winner, lady!” A sailor yelled at them. “Thousand an’ a half pounds.”

“You have some eye for this, lass. Looking for a job? I have an open spot on my frigate,” another one said and pointed at a fishing boat that was decidedly not a frigate of any sort.

“Thank you but I already have a spot on a ‘frigate’,” Vereesa said as Alexstrasza collected their winnings in a fold of her clothes. “But I’ll keep you in mind in case I want to switch careers.”

Alexstrasza handed her the pearl-handled knife and said, “A keepsake.”

“Thank you,” Vereesa said and her lips curled into a cheeky smile. “I’ll add it to our hoard.”

“Your hoard,” Alexstrasza corrected her. “You have accepted it – I saw your watch.”

“Could we not share custody of it?” Vereesa said. “I would love to keep all your gifts but my apartment in Dalaran is rather small so if my mission is over I might want to drop all of that off with you.”

“Ask me again when you have an inkling of what that means,” Alexstrasza said after a beat as they walked back to the _Sungrace_. “Well, good luck on your journey, Vereesa Windrunner.”

“Please, call me Vereesa,” she said and pocketed the knife. “‘Vereesa Windrunner’ was my grandmother. That is how she liked to be called. Not ‘grandma’, not even ‘nana’ – Vereesa Windrunner the Knifebringer. She was a blacksmith.”

“I cannot tell if you’re making fun of me,” Alexstrasza admitted.

“I think I might be,” Vereesa said and basked in the warmth of making Alexstrasza smile so openly.

“May I see you again?” Alexstrasza stepped forward and extended her arm. She was holding a piece of paper that Vereesa took without their fingers brushing, and briefly looked at it – it was the postal address of the Snug Harbour Inn. She had violent flashbacks to her run-in with the barmaid and prayed to Belore that Alexstrasza was somehow not in the inn on that tragic day.

“That might not be a good idea,” she said. “We placed anti-Alexstrasza wards around the ship.”

“Oh, don’t you know how those work?” Alexstrasza grinned. “They only ward against unwanted visitors. That is how I could come by the first time around.”

“I am a security hazard,” Vereesa murmured and sighed. “In that case, I shall send you my guard schedule. I am usually alone, so we can talk about...anything.”

“I shall make sure to leave a forward address by the inn when I leave.”

“By the way,” Vereesa said, “I am. I am offering you my friendship.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Jaina is perceptive, Vereesa is strangely also perceptive, Sylvanas has a heartwarming conversation with Liadrin, Rommath has run out of foundation and is mad about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!   
> Thank you So Much for your comments, I found them super motivating. If I didn't answer them it is because I couldn't find the time and energy between two sneezes, but I'll get on top of it ASAP.  
> 

_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_Allow me to not waste your time with pleasantries and just announce my intent:_

_Jaina Proudmoore,_

_I wish to court you._

_“Wish” is a word that hardly explores the depth of my desires but I shall elaborate on that in person._

_You are also most welcome to court me back; I am not a traditionalist and I do not adhere myself to a certain set of rules or roles regarding courtship. However, I understand how that may not be true for you, thus I am eager to hear about Kul Tiran customs and their practical applications._

_Forgive me for having written such a brusque letter; I felt the need to give my answer as soon as possible but my schedule for today leaves little room for deliberation._

_Earlier today, I have concluded a meeting with Magister Rommath, a master of transmutation as you know, who might be able to help us continue this discussion in a manner where both of us inhabit the same room at once, instead of waiting for a reply with bated breath and nerves on edge that never get to find a release. At least, not adequate release._

_I implored him to consider “portable orbs of translocation” as his new pet project and I gave him the incentive to be quick about it too._

_I shall let you know how his research goes._

_In the meantime, I shall think of you with fondness less tentative and more direct and brave._

  
  


_(Hopefully) Yours,_

_Sylvanas_

  
  


“You have the most smitten smile I have ever seen in all my twenty-three years,” Modera noted and there was a teasing lilt to her voice that unnerved Jaina, leaving her too exposed for her liking. There were several things that day that unnerved her just as much – the memory of her mother’s hug barrelling into her thoughts, again and again, intrusive and leaving her wanting, a hangover Kael’thas’ inability to meet her eyes, the faint smell of flowers that lingered around the entire ship that she couldn’t place and couldn’t shake. Sylvanas’ letter was serenity, lifting her mood with practised ease and Jaina was looking forward to feeling that lightness every day.

“You just get younger with every passing day, don’t you?” Jaina said and pocketed Sylvanas’ letter. Her smile was indeed a fool’s own as she looked over the open seas, Boralus Harbor long behind them, the peaks of Drustvar had slowly melted into the horizon like a cube of ice dropped onto the cobblestone streets of Boralus by a fish vendor on a dry summer day.

“What can I say?” Modera shrugged. “Your mother’s ire is my life force. Her hate invigorates me.”

There went Jaina’s good mood, she waved it off with a white handkerchief, shed a tear for the farewell, and then welcomed the unease not as an old friend but more like a dormitory supervisor who told her to go to sleep when she was about to start on her third reread of _Practical Magicks_. 

“Well, I hope she doesn’t truly hate you,” Jaina said and then threw a gust of wind at the sails, a futile action that added little to their momentum as they had caught a strong stream earlier and they had been sailing smoothly all day, slicing the waves like a javelin through the air. It did help her release some of her frustration though. “Mediating between you two sounds like a pastime I wouldn’t wish on my enemies.”

“Oh, Jaina, I am sorry,” Modera said with a heavy sigh. “I know I was counterproductive at best.”

“I am aware that you two have your…” Jaina trailed off, trying to find the words. She didn’t quite have them. “History.”

“Regardless, I should’ve put it behind me,” Modera said. “You needn’t worry about it any more. I shall be on my best behaviour. I’ll even grovel if your mother needs me to.”

“I don’t know what she needs but I am looking forward to finding it out,” she said and allowed her gaze to linger on the bulking sails rippling in the wind. “I gave her a _Portable Portal_ , you know. My best attempt at encryption so far.”

“I would’ve helped with it if you asked,” Modera said and Jaina shook her head in response. 

“I know,” Jaina said, “But I shan’t ever learn if you keep picking up my slack.”

“Then you might as well drop out of our _dalaran snaps_ championship, darling,” Modera said. “You are only on a winning streak because I’ve been pulling you along with me.”

“We shall see how well you partner with _Anya_ ,” Jaina murmured and leaned over to look at the waves slapping against the hull of the ship, bursting into a white-green foam.

“Mayhaps Vereesa was right – lucky in love, unlucky at cards,” Modera said, ignoring Jaina’s comment altogether, and gave her a grin. “So, how are things going with the strapping young Ranger-General? Who am I kidding – she was probably around to witness the Sundering.”

“She was _not,_ ” Jaina croaked out. The idea of discussing their relationship with Modera irked her somewhere as if she owed that story to her mother first and she was breaching a contract they had never signed but understood it as binding anyway. “For a change, could we talk about _your_ love life?”

Modera was already opening her mouth, no doubt to say something funny but dismissive but she didn’t have an opportunity to even begin.

“Archmage Modera,” came the voice of Vereesa from behind them as a blessing and a saving grace and Jaina considered it a minor personal accomplishment that she avoided jumping like a spooked cat. She had to push a palm into her chest to feel her racing heart, and while grateful she was, she thought it was about time to caution Vereesa about the dangers of sneaking up on her and scaring the life out of her (accidental ice-spiking, unforeseen teleportation and the rest). “Ranger-Captain Anya requests your presence. As I understand, she is stuck in a corset and needs your expertise to–”

“Say no more,” Modera muttered and rushed off towards the stairs that lead below the deck and to their sleeping cabins. “How many times do I have to tell her…”

“Did she really–”

“Nope,” Vereesa quipped. Her cheeks were still rosy from sleep and deep creases decorated them where she had pressed them into her pillow. “You just seemed...a tad uncomfortable, I suppose.”

Vereesa was not perceptive.

At least, she had never been perceptive about Jaina.

Perhaps, if Jaina was to slap her across the face with a dead fish, she would notice it. Jaina wasn’t a hundred per cent certain about that either.

“You are not wrong,” Jaina said. “Thank you.”

Vereesa walked up and took Modera’s emptied space next to her and–

An arcane signature shot through Jaina so palpable it may as well had been an arrow from a crossbow, flashing through her and driving her into the railing of the ship, the edges of the wood cutting into her side – Jaina winced. 

“Are you– are you hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m fine, just dizzy,” Jaina said and hesitated. “Vereesa...where have you been?”

“In our cabin?” Vereesa half-asked-half-stated, her eyes blown wide by confusion. “I’ve been sleeping since eight o’clock. I’m sorry I didn’t come to greet you guys but I was so, _so_ tuckered out.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Jaina said and took a few seconds to grab a hold of her composure. She closed her eyes and reached out towards the signature that twirled around her like a whirlwind full of – _sand?_

_Flowers. Seasalt. Magefire, raging hot, melting through stone and soil. A gold coin fitted snugly in a palm, warm and covered by a layer of sweat, glinting in the sun._

“You seem different,” Jaina supplied in the end. 

“Well, I’m a new woman – I finally got my Captain-ordered eight hours of sleep,” Vereesa said and flashed a smile so blinding that Jaina had to turn her face. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


“Good form,” Sylvanas said after Velonara sent a recruit flailing on the ground with a single, precise stab of her hand, her fingers hitting him between two ribs and knocking all the air out of his lungs. He was gasping like a freshly caught carp and looked just as perplexed. “Do try to keep him in one piece, I’d rather not have to call a–”

“Priest?”

“Were you standing around waiting for an opening?” Sylvanas drawled and took Liadrin in like one would take in the inevitable start of a busy and exhausting workweek: with reluctant acceptance and a slowly boiling dread. The fire feeding her dread went out in an instant – Liadrin was understated in her slacks and a billowy green shirt, quite unlike her usual sharp self, as if she had nothing to prove and no one-uppance to achieve, and that almost made Sylvanas feel a fragment of affection. Or, at least, she could distinctly remember once possessing that affection.

“Of course not,” Liadrin said simply. “I have better things to do.”

Sylvanas could already feel her lips turn downward and her throat produce a masterful scoff when Liadrin quickly added, “I meant our lunch meeting. That is the better thing.”

“A brave assumption,” Sylvanas said and motioned for them to walk off the training grounds. The rangers who saw her saluted quickly and went back to their drills. “It might end up a harrowing experience.”

“I doubt it,” Liadrin said. “I have booked a table at the _Vespertine_ ”–she furrowed her brows for a moment–“You still like their salmon, right?”

“Yes,” Sylvanas said and sighed. “It is still my favourite. In theory. I haven’t been there since you decided to have your bachelorette party in the back lounge.”

“Oh,” Liadrin said. “I forgot that.”

“I didn’t.”

Liadrin nodded, stiff as ever, and jogged up to a hawkstrider-drawn carriage that had been waiting around for her, judged by the bored expression of the coachman, a young man of indeterminate age, as it was the case with most elves. His lips were tinted dark with bloodthistle juice and Sylvanas briefly wondered if Liadrin had finally resolved that she should be the unfortunate victim of a traffic accident – truly quite tragic, completely unavoidable. At least, Sylvanas thought, he had enough decorum to spit his mouthful into a pouch instead of dribbling all over the cobblestones.

“To the _Vespertine_ , please,” Liadrin said and threw the coachman a small sack of copper coins. He caught it with one hand, pocketed it and moved to open the doors for them with the speed of an insomniac slug. Later, Sylvanas would liken their ride to the most effective torture sequence one could come up with and, hence, a good candidate for the next popular war crime. Only five minutes into their completely silent staredown with Liadrin, she was more than willing to give up everything she had ever known about the security of Silvermoon City if it guaranteed her a swift and mostly painless death. 

The _Vespertine_ was a bar once undeservedly popular among the young professionals of Silvermoon, merely because it was fresh and new and expensive, with walls painted by up-and-coming artists, ornate columns and a veranda overlooking a fountain and some rhododendrons that had grown tall enough to rival trees. Everyone had wanted to bask in the glow of that novelty, hoping that they too would feel fresh and new and expensive. Then, slowly, the rich and fashionable had seeped away once they had concluded that there was little else to it besides an excellent salmon dish and some better-than-average mood lighting in the lounge, and the place was taken over by bank tellers, vendors and auctioneers who liked a quick and moderately fancy lunch and some live music provided by the students of the nearby conservatoire.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Liadrin said after the waiter ushered them to their table and took their orders. “I know you weren’t keen on the idea.”

They were seated on the open veranda, sharing the shade with a few mage apprentices blathering on and on about an upcoming exam, and an elderly dwarven gentleman who was meticulously digging through a pile of grilled rainbow trout. 

“Of course,” Sylvanas said, electing to answer both statements in one go. “After our _stellar_ meeting yesterday I figured I might have grievances I need to let go too.”

“I am glad,” Liadrin said after a well-stretched out silence and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Sylvanas could count the number of times she had seen her with her hair down on one hand. She picked up the wine list and lifted it high enough to eclipse Liadrin’s piercing gaze that was trying to burn a hole into her.

“Vandellor has been encouraging me to do the same. Giving and receiving forgiveness is a crucial step towards the Light,” Liadrin added and Sylvanas chose to ignore that. She could only hope Liadrin didn’t ask her out to try to convert her because she had neither the mental nor the emotional fortitude to get into a theological debate.

The waiter came back with their dishes and Sylvanas welcomed both the distraction and her own immediate, visceral reaction to the sight of a single slice of salmon sitting on a bed of greens, its colour matched by a heap of orange sweetroots baked to perfect crispiness.

“How’s the _High Priest_?” Sylvanas nudged her steamed salmon with her knife, inspecting the spinach and the snappy green beans underneath it. “We only ever meet on official business and he always seems – how should I put it? Uncomfortable with me.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable if you didn’t insist on calling him ‘High Priest’,” Liadrin said and sampled her crab soup. They’d used to serve them in tiny little cups with more garnish than soup back in the heyday of the _Vespertine,_ stylish and _cute_ and wholly incapable of feeding anyone above the age of three; now it was a hearty helping and Sylvanas thought the change in clientele made for better food philosophy. 

“What should I call him, then?” Sylvanas piled some blanched garlic spinach onto her fork. “ _Father_? I believe I lost my right to that one.”

“You may try his real name,” Liadrin said and if she was upset by her double entendre, she did not show it. “And you may try acting less weird around him. It is hardly his fault that we broke up.”

“Was it not his decision to cut me off?” Sylvanas said. “I’d imagine it is somewhat awkward to keep in touch with your...former future daughter-in-law?”

“He didn’t cut you off,” Liadrin said and scowled. _Offended, finally._ “He was giving you space to heal.”

“Oh, I was quite fine after a few months,” Sylvanas said. “He gave me _years_ of space. How generous of him.”

“You were not fine, Syl,” Liadrin ground out and glanced around to check if they had an audience. “You kept giving people _baskets_. To strangers, even.”

“Do not call me that,” Sylvanas said. “Do you really wish to start a debate on who handled what breakup better? Were you not discharged because you failed to show up to leadership meetings on time?”

Liadrin shrugged, barely, only with one shoulder, a blink-and-you-miss-it shrug, and said, “Cyssa took the hawkstriders in the divorce. For a while, I had to walk everywhere and I don’t walk fast enough.”

“That's very sad,” Sylvanas said and stabbed a piece of oven-baked sweetroot, pushed it around her plate to soak up some of the lemon sauce that dripped off the salmon, and then popped it in her mouth.

Liadrin cleared her throat. Sylvanas thought she looked properly constipated with her white face and her perpetual scowl and her spoon gripped so hard it simulated an earthquake. 

“I wanted to thank you for the honourable discharge,” Liadrin said. “Halduron told me at Lor’s birthday party last year that you intervened on my behalf.”

“Perhaps I should have intervened more,” Sylvanas said. “Maybe if you had kept your job you wouldn’t have to run around in a habit now.”

“You might find this shocking but I do not wear a nun’s habit,” Liadrin said and amplified her obvious annoyance with a helping of eye-rolling. “I also don’t live at a nunnery.”

“Thank Belore,” Sylvanas said around a bite of sweetroot. “I cannot tell if that would help or hinder your chances with women.”

“I would advise you to worry about your own chances on that front,” Liadrin said, “but I think you would just use that as an opportunity to mention your _girlfriend_. Again.”

“Well, I am not even ashamed of that,” Sylvanas said, and if she blushed, it was justified, and she wasn’t ashamed of that either. Honesty poured out of her like honey from a comb. “I would let her take over all my conversations if I didn’t have to worry about propriety or getting things done.”

“You’re infatuated,” Liadrin noted. “It is a good look on you.”

Sylvanas took a sip of her water, and through the glass, she looked at Liadrin, just as striking and infuriating as she ever was, even when distorted, and she understood that there was a part of her that would always want those eyes directed only at her, seeing only her – a jealous little remnant of the past, a memory of pain she had never alleviated, vying for the attention she no longer needed but sought to possess for possession’s sake, and she decided to drown it in that very glass of water.

“It is beyond that,” Sylvanas said. “I do think I’m in love.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me,” Liadrin said quietly and put her spoon down next to her bowl, “but I have always wanted you to have that.”

“I _have_ had it,” Sylvanas reminded her. 

She could only look at Liadrin for so long. Her eyes screwed shut when she felt the first prickles in their corners, tears uninvited but hardly bothered by that fact, pooling and ready to stream down her cheeks, completely ignorant of the faux pas they were about to commit as Sylvanas Windrunner barely ever cried and definitely never in public.

“No, no”–Liadrin reached out to hold her hand, Sylvanas assumed, but she dropped the motion halfway-through, onto the table and into a fist–“I want you to have that love reflected at you.”

“Well, that’s so _charitable_ of you,” Sylvanas said and wiped her tears away before they could make a grand entrance. “Is this how you wish to tell me you’d never loved me?”

“I did too,” Liadrin said. “Very much. The person I didn’t love was, well”–she pursed up her lips and stopped to toy with the rim of her glass–“ _me_ , I believe.”

Sylvanas didn’t want to cry anymore, so she said, “Are all these realisations coming from your newfound devotion for the Light? Because if so, I would’ve hand-sewn you a habit years ago.”

Liadrin chuckled. It felt honest. Sylvanas quickly took another sip of her water because surreality was crashing down on her and drinking water seemed mundane enough to balance things out.

“Partly,” Liadrin agreed. “It also helps when your entire life collapses on you, you are left completely alone and all your friends either hate or pity you.”

Sylvanas wanted to point out that she had had all of that too, perhaps except for the “hate” part, but she opted to be the better person out of the two of them, just once, enjoying the fresh mountain air up on top of the moral high horse Liadrin usually rode everywhere.

“I do think I needed all that,” Liadrin added before Sylvanas could say anything. “To see what I put you through.”

“While I’m overjoyed that you found such a great learning opportunity in me,” Sylvanas said. “I want you to understand that I have never wished for you to experience even an iota of the pain you put me through. It did _not_ make me feel good to see you wasting away.”

Liadrin stared at her as if words eluded her and human interaction was only a vague pipe dream, so Sylvanas continued, “That being said, I haven’t yet heard an actual apology from you and my lunch break is almost over.”

“You are right,” Liadrin sighed out and buried herself in her palms, the numerous golden bands on her thin fingers glimmering sharp. The early afternoon sun threw short strips of light onto the veranda as it crawled lower towards the horizon. “I am so sorry, Sylvanas. I am genuinely sorry that I thought I knew what you needed more than you did. That I was doing you a favour. That I didn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe you didn’t,” Sylvanas whispered, her voice raw in her throat like swallowing glass. “Still, you should’ve asked and you should’ve given me a choice.”

“I should’ve,” Liadrin agreed. “I was cruel to you on purpose because I thought if you hated me you would have it easier.”

“Well, you aren’t a magister for a reason,” Sylvanas quipped. “Lucky for you, priesthood cares an ounce more about faith than intellect.”

“ _That_ , I deserve.”

Sylvanas felt something snap inside her as though that remnant of betrayal and pain finally broke apart, into shards so small she couldn’t recognise them anymore, just a handful of sand dropped into an ocean and the ocean waved back to her, and the foam and the salt and the smell of seaweed all recalled Jaina Proudmoore. She checked her glass – no, it was still water and not bloodthistle beer.

“You didn’t ruin me,” Sylvanas said, waking from her daydream, and pushed her empty plate to the side. “Maybe I was a ruin for a while but I am no more. I can still love and I can still be vulnerable and _honest_.”

“That makes me very happy,” Liadrin said and if a face could break from honesty, Sylvanas thought hers definitely would, because she looked ready to cry and split at the seams. It was chilling.

“Very well,” Sylvanas. “I shall accept your apology unless you start crying in public because I don’t want to read tomorrow’s headlines about how the Ranger-General terrorises priests over clam chowder.”

“It is a crab soup.”

“Please, be nitpicky somewhere else. I don’t tolerate you.”

“Sylvanas...I would like it if we could be _friendly_ ,” Liadrin said as if she changed her mind on the wording at the last minute. “One day.”

“Of course,” Sylvanas said. “Let me write a letter to my _girlfriend_ and ask her over so that I can introduce you.”

Liadrin arched an eyebrow and opened her mouth, no doubt to perform sarcasm or snark or maybe even something sardonic, but Sylvanas cut her off, “I am joking. That’s not happening.”

“I shall leave you be.” Liadrin inclined her head, gracious even in defeat. “I promise.”

“I could do coffee with you,” Sylvanas said. “Together with your father.”

“I think he would like that.”

  
  


~~~

  
  
  


Sylvanas knocked on Rommath’s door, three firm knocks and then came the answer in the form of a groan and an annoyed little “come in” as if he hadn’t been the one to call for her in the first place, demanding her presence at her earliest convenience. Sylvanas decided to be gracious enough to conduct all her eye-rolling before she entered his office. She closed the door behind her and turned the lock as an afterthought.

Rommath’s office looked like how Sylvanas imagined the aftermath of a drug-induced frenzy a scholar would get into when the deadlines approached at high velocity and the duties depleted way too slowly and the only path forward led through bloodthistle and kaja’mite and maybe a mental breakdown. He had open tomes, scrolls and empty bottles strewn across the floor, and Sylvanas rolled one forward with her feet to read its label. 

_Bloodthistle beer. Predictable._

Rommath was crouching next to his potted ficus plant with a pair of pruning shears, and Sylvanas thought he matched his office quite well, as he looked like someone who hadn’t been sleeping for a year by then, definitely addicted to several substances, his skin gaunt and waxy yellow with angry rashes along his jawline. He wasn’t wearing his signatures robes either; he was outfitted in what Sylvanas assumed were his nightclothes: an orange, floral romper, felt slippers and a floppy nightcap. If he was to tell her that he had mostly sustained himself on coffee and maybe a few crackers in the last few days, she would’ve believed him.

“Finally,” he drawled without looking up. “I only asked for you _hours_ ago. I was about running out of patience.”

“It is six o’clock in the morning,” Sylvanas pointed out and crouched down next to him. “Should I have come by in the middle of the night?”

“Preferably,” Rommath said and snipped a curled up, brown leaf off the plant. “It would’ve been in your interest, after all.”

“Are you saying–”

“Yes,” Rommath said and finally looked at her. “It took two days and two nights and all my beauty too. The nerves and the mental strain gave me this...unseemly rash”–he gestured all over his face and Sylvanas politely hummed in response–“but I am finished with your little project. As expected.”

Sylvanas swallowed, audibly perhaps, and schooled her features to reveal none of the excitement and honest eagerness that took over her. 

“It is charged and ready to go,” Rommath added. “I am a genius, I believe.”

“What kind of energy source did you use?” Sylvanas said after a beat.

“I know what you are asking and my answer is an emphatic ‘no’,” Rommath said and made a face. “It is _not_ fel magic.”

“I am well aware of your _interest_ ,” she said and Rommath jumped upright like a coil and puffed himself up like a pigeon in mating season. Sylvanas stood up as well and she towered over him – he was below average height and she was surely not.

“I said it wasn’t fel magic,” Rommath ground out. “I would never do that.”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at him, noted his lie, and said, “What powers it then?”

“It’s a trade secret,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest in a display of fake bravado. “I cannot tell you as I want to get a patent for my invention.”

“Really now?” Sylvanas said with a grin, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort, and mirrored his arm-folding. “Didn’t I come up with the idea? What about my proof of concept?”

“You don’t have anything! You have nothing!” Rommath huffed out and reddened immediately. “If we go to patent court everyone shall know you wanted to smuggle your girlfriend into Quel’Thalas! Covertly, as a traitor would!”

“Belore, Rommath, you are so melodramatic.” 

“I haven’t slept in two days. Three days,” he said and he stared into the distance – in this case, his wall. “One of those numbers – I do not remember. I think I have every right to be a little...on edge.”

“Just tell me how it works and I shall get out of your hair,” Sylvanas said and watched as he scurried to his desk to duck behind it and take something out of the bottom drawer, the portable orbs of translocation, she assumed. He reemerged with two liver-pink marble orbs, one in each hand, about the size of his palm. They were smooth and streaked with white veins, strangely matte as if they swallowed up the light around them. Rommath stood there for a moment with his arms extended, triumphant, then he rounded his desk yet again to face Sylvanas and present his invention with an utterly self-complementary smile.

“I made them fool-proof so that even someone like yourself could use them without splicing themselves into infinitesimal parts,” Rommath said and Sylvanas let the insult slide. She was too excited to care. “All you need is to hold the orb in your right palm and say the magic words.”

“What are the magic words?” Sylvanas said, playing along.

“ _Rommath is a genius._ ”

“Smart,” Sylvanas said. “I can’t see anyone saying that by accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually 6,5K initially but I moved some of it to the next chapter.  
> If you are super worried about Kalimdor - I will have exactly one more monstrous chapter dedicated to love. And then you can have water elementals.  
> Or we shall see :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Vereesa is RomCom Best Friend who gains brain cells while getting fit, Rhonin's navel somehow appears as a vision, Jaina turns the tables on Sylvanas, Sylvanas lets it all happen, excessive bickering commences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> The death of the author was an illusion and here I am yet again to answer comments 1 month late (sorry sorry) and drop a chapter.  
> I bumped the rating to E for a reason. While I don't think my writing is any explicit, I'd like to make it very clear that the last 2K or so words of this is just self-indulgent, mild erotica, so if that's not something you'd like to engage with, please skip to the endnotes after '***' where I'll helpfully explain the happenings.
> 
> As usual, if you are still here and enjoying this fic, please consider leaving a comment so that I know you are still here and enjoying this fic and I'm not shouting into a vacuum.
> 
> ps: I somehow wrote this entire thing to the 'Pang' album by Caroline Polachek and it Shows. I take full responsibility for any sort of incomprehensible dream imagery.

_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_Magister Rommath has shown me what a valuable ally and, I admit this reluctantly, friend he can be, as he managed to finish his orbs of translocation in only two days. I expected him to put it off until forever but I suppose his scientific curiosity got the best of him._

_I cannot complain about his tenacity._

_In the Envelope of Suspect Origin, you shall find your orb, twin to my twin – I encourage you to analyse it for instabilities of any kind. As much as I am burning to see you, I would rather do so later than sooner, if “sooner” places any risk on you. “Falling to pieces” should only be a metaphorical phrase and preferably one a lot more pleasurable too._

_Should it match your requirements for safety, please consider meeting me tonight._

_My orb is currently sitting on the couch at Windrunner Spire, waiting for your return._

_I believe this detail may be relevant to your interests._

_If it pleases you, I would love to take you out on a proper date to discuss Us, in plural._

  
  


_With love and anticipation,_

_Sylvanas_

_p.s.: Please, do not think of anything too fancy._

  
  
  


“A proper date,” Jaina quoted Sylvanas’ letter to a Vereesa-shaped starfish sprawled across the hardwood floor of their cabin doing elaborate stretching exercises. “But nothing too fancy. What does that mean in practice?”

As Jaina threw dresses, robes and shirts out of her travel trunk into a lopsided pile on her bed that looked ready to topple over, she found herself feeling rather silly, like a debutante or an apprentice on their first day. All their feelings were about to culminate, finally, _finally_ , and Jaina’s stomach was dancing to an unnecessarily complicated Wildhammer folk song in six-eight time, accompanied by an oboe solo in her ears. 

“Windrunner Village has exactly _one_ restaurant,” Vereesa supplied. “I think it also doubles as a pub? Maybe triples as a dance hall? Quadruples as a–”

“ _Vereesa_ ,” Jaina sighed out as she inspected a lavender dress robe that she didn’t remember buying, looking for an embroidered brand name or a stitched-on patch.

“Had Arthas never taken you on dates?” Vereesa said and then pulled her right knee up to her chest; she let out a low grunt when her joints popped, loud enough to make Jaina wince. “I mean, I wouldn’t be shocked, really, but – you know. I kind of assumed it wasn’t just all horizontal dancing with you two.”

“ _Horizontal dancing_ ...Ridiculous,” Jaina muttered to herself in disbelief and shivered as the ghost of past lovemaking grazed her and left her chilled. “What I meant to say before you decided to bring up _Arthas_ of all people is that I only understand ‘not fancy’ in a Kul Tiran context. You are a lot more culturally frivolous.”

“First of all – rude,” Vereesa said and extended her leg up towards the ceiling with a little huff and a groan of content. “Second of all – my sister is not frivolous and you know this already. Third of all, and last too, I suppose, unless I come up with another excellent point – she would never embarrass you.”

“You’re right,” Jaina said and started stuffing her clothes back in the trunk without any care for their wellbeing. “I’m overthinking it.”

“Quite so,” Vereesa said as she massaged her calf. “I would know. I’m an expert.”

“A shirt then and nice pants,” Jaina announced. “Sensible jewellery and a low bun.”

“Fetching and good for all occasions,” Vereesa agreed and rolled around to prop herself up with her arms. “I’m glad, you know”–she started doing slow and precise push-ups, dropping low–“that I trusted my gut-feeling about you two. Obviously, I didn’t expect you to become such bosom buddies–”

“ _Bosom. Buddies_ ,” Jaina enunciated and made a conscious effort to not grind her teeth. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Whatever do you mean?”–she switched to one arm only, putting her left hand behind her back. Jaina had the sudden urge to feel up her own upper arm muscles, or lack thereof, in sympathy–“This is classic Silvermoon lingo. Do you find it a little too frivolous?”

Jaina crammed the last piece on her bed, her well-hated ceremonial Kirin Tor robe, into her luggage (Truly, why was it a requirement for diplomatic missions? How did her abdominal muscles help cross-cultural understanding? Why didn’t _Rhonin_ have to display his navel?) and then looked down at Vereesa again, her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows drew together, almost into a single line. 

Vereesa was being _weird_.

“You are uncharacteristically cheeky,” she noted and Vereesa stopped in the middle of a push-up to lift her face and meet her eyes. “What happened to you?”

Vereesa scrambled to sit up cross-legged and offered her a brilliant smile that called Sylvanas to Jaina’s mind. She blew a lock of her hair out of her forehead with a little puff, leant back on her hands and took a large breath to prepare for the long-winded, dramatic retelling of how they had bartered away a hundred barrels of cabbage for a couple of pints of beer and lemonade at the Snug Harbour Inn, how Rhonin had wanted Nathanos to have a tryst with a barmaid for some reason that missed both Vereesa and Jaina, and how Nathanos had put a near-dead Rhonin in bed and even tucked him in as a loving mother would or maybe a very patient and indulgent spouse.

“And what about you?” Jaina said when Vereesa had to stop to resurface for air.

“Stone cold sober,” Vereesa said. “I went to bed on my own two feet.”

Jaina closed her trunk with a thud and a click and a huff and then she rolled up the hem of her robe. She crawled onto the floor to kneel next to Vereesa and then leant forward to survey her face that was gradually taking on a peachy tone turning into rose-pink, crumbling under her scrutiny like a house of cards in a gentle-to-moderate breeze.

“What?” Vereesa croaked out and tried for a nervous giggle as she inched away from Jaina. “Am I getting pimples again? Hasn't happened in eight hundred years.”

“Your arcane signature has changed,” Jaina said and reached out to run a finger along Vereesa’s cheeks–

_Ignition. Magefire dancing on Jaina’s knuckles – No, dragonfire_. _Bright-hot and red, pure, molten...essence of Life_. 

Jaina snapped her hand away before the flames could lick higher. Vereesa flinched away too but did not comment on it, so Jaina continued and hoped her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt, “I didn’t want to bring it up before because that’s a rather private matter but I can’t help feeling...worried about you.”

“I have never been better,” Vereesa quipped but her jaw clenched and unclenched and Jaina knew her tells.

“Don’t be flippant,” Jaina said and sat back on the ball of her feet.

“What is it like, then?” Vereesa said. “When I asked Rhonin, he said I smelled like moonlight and citruses and _loneliness_ ”–she huffed–“He is funny like that.”

Arcane signatures changed all the time, it was hardly the sensation of the century, but Jaina had never heard of one having a complete turn-around in a matter of days. It was always gradual, moving towards something new in small increments, a lemony smell turning into orange, the solidity of cold steel morphing into liquid iron, ice into vapour, waves into rings of water.

Was there even a precedent for this? 

Jaina racked her brain for an easy answer, a passage in a book she had read once, a stolen line of conversation between Antonidas and Modera, a dropped phrase or two by Kael’thas, and she came up understanding her profound amateurishness on the topic. It annoyed her _so much_.

“You are bright,” Jaina said eventually. “And vivid and blazing hot. So much so that I needed _hours_ to get over the sensation and mute it down to a bearable level.” 

Vereesa didn’t look shocked. She was contemplative, perhaps, as she tapped the pads of her fingers to the floor and considered Jaina. 

After a few minutes filled with suffocating silence and Jaina running a tally of the many possible ways she had just offended her best friend, broken up only by the sound of nails on hardwood, Vereesa blurted out, “Oh, I’ve got it! You’re short-sighted, are you not?” 

“I am?” Jaina arched her eyebrows. “But I had my sight fixed when I was eighteen.”

“But you wore glasses before then, right? Or those silly little monocle things”–Jaina nodded at Vereesa–“Then you must still remember the first time you put them on.”

Jaina said, “I remember looking out of my window and seeing shingles. _Individual_ shingles on the roofs. Of course, logically, I knew they had to be there but I had never really seen it before.”

“Yes!” Vereesa clapped her hands together and promptly fell on her back, reminding Jaina of a large, overturned bug or a tortoise. “I think my signature is changing because I am changing too. I’m getting glasses for the first time in my life.”

“All this because the boys took you out drinking?”

“Belore, no, that didn’t do me any good,” Vereesa said and snickered. “It’s because of this.”

She pulled a chain out of the pocket of her pants, and on it dangled that ominous watch that had given Jaina a sleepless night of research and cursing Alexstrasza’s ancestors, provided she had any.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Jaina said.

“Absolutely, but not now,” Vereesa said. “Sylvanas shall kill me if I make you late for your date.” 

“Vereesa,” Jaina said. “You’re... _safe_ , right?”

“I think so,” Vereesa offered and didn’t elaborate. 

Jaina watched her play with the display for a few more beats of her heart, then she started dressing.

  
  


~~~

  
  


“It worked! I can barely believe it,” Jaina gushed as she inspected her clothes for soot or burn marks or tears or any other evidence to prove that she had just jumped across half an ocean and a quarter of a continent or – she wasn’t particularly geographically-inclined beyond seamanship so she stopped herself and took a deep breath to gather her wits. She looked up at Sylvanas, hoping that her face would be a source of calmness, a tether to this plane to ground her nerves. 

She immediately took a step back (staggered, really), her brain sluggishly trying to signal to her muscles that staying upright was a generally good idea and toppling over could result in serious head trauma and, possibly, instantaneous death.

Jaina was not prepared for that vision: there stood the woman who had been running a canyon into her mind as of late – Sylvanas Windrunner, all made up in a simple and practical midnight-blue dress instead of her signature linen shirts and bespoke pants ironed to perfection, an image of royalty to Jaina with none of the distance or the arrogance, only a wildly gorgeous woman now flushed pink, popping her knuckles with an urgency suggesting that she was also ready to die any minute but couldn’t do so while unpopped.

“You are wearing my shirt,” Sylvanas noted and dropped her hands. She picked up a smile instead, tentative but with the promise of blooming.

“And you aren’t,” Jaina said.

“I can do that but only if you take it off first,” Sylvanas said and her smile turned into a toothy grin that tugged at Jaina’s heart effortlessly. “I don’t think we would both fit.”

“No, I meant you aren’t wearing _a_ shirt. Not this specific shirt,” Jaina muttered. “You look great. Quite dressed up”–Sylvanas arched her eyebrows at that–“Not too dressed up, mind you, it is very much appropriate for the occasion but it is certainly a _dress_ , which makes you dressed up, technically.”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said and it was barely more than a well-enunciated sigh, and stepped close enough to her that Jaina could reach out a hand and bury it in her hair. “I would like to embrace you if you are done. I’d hate to interrupt your thought process.”

“Oh, I’m _so_ done. Please, interrupt me.”

And then Sylvanas was there, interrupting her, encasing her. Jaina felt as though they were marble intarsia, two pieces fitted together with precision one could only master through a decade of apprenticeship under a demanding master, except they blasted through their studies with reckless abandon – and still, still, against reason, their edges smoothed out into a single perfect unity. 

Jaina granted a small sob its freedom and welcomed the novelty feeling of being exactly at the right place, at the right time. With that, her nerves disappeared and only Sylvanas remained, solid and warm like a hearth after the flames went out, only a few embers blinking hotly.

“I feel like I should say something now but my head is awfully empty,” Jaina said and Sylvanas huffed hot air onto her cheeks in response. “Maybe the orb was faulty after all – I think I split my mind in two and left half of it with Vereesa.”

“Don’t worry, she won’t break it,” Sylvanas said. “She knows the value of it: she’s spent most of her life coveting one.”

“You’re horrible,” Jaina said and pressed her face to Sylvanas’ again to soak in more of her warmth. “I don’t deem that worthy of a reaction. Not even a reproachful scoff.”

“How did you know,” Sylvanas started and then stopped to kiss the soft, wispy hairs on her temple, “that my ideal date involves paradoxes and discussing my little sister?”

“Hilarious,” Jaina said and turned to place a peck on the corner of Sylvanas’ mouth. “Must be a family trait because today Vereesa–”

Sylvanas cut her off with a kiss, a gentle but insistent pressure, and Jaina bent over by it without question, opening up to Sylvanas like it was second nature, and she rewarded her pliantness with a sigh so soft she almost missed it. 

“Jaina _, please_.” Sylvanas dropped her arms down to the small of her back and squeezed her closer. “I regret that I said anything at all.”

“Well, I shall inform you that the general purpose of a date is to get to know each other,” Jaina said. “Or, in our case, I suppose to talk about our numerous feelings that I presume we have, our thoughts and so on, some of which are preoccupied with your sister, as it turns out.”

“Torture is a war crime,” Sylvanas said as her thumbs drew rings onto Jaina’s hips, “and a bit of a faux pas in quel’dorei high society. Something to consider if you wish to run in my circles.”

“Very well, shall we start over?” Jaina said, feeling very generous as she played with the hem of Sylvanas’ dress and watched the muscles on her neck twitch when her knuckles brushed against her thigh. “Properly, this time? Without the looming horror of Vereesa?”

“Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner,” Sylvanas said and extracted herself from their embrace, her fingers running from Jaina’s back to the back of her arms and down to her fingers, hooking into them lightly before she let go. Jaina almost expected her to bow or curtsy but Sylvanas seemed to be satisfied with a mock-serious nod. “A pleasure.”

“I’m sure you are,” Jaina said with a grin pulling at her lips and her hands chasing after Sylvanas.

“Or, in any case, I shall try my very best,” Sylvanas said and she must’ve felt generous too because she took Jaina’s hands in hers again to put them palm-to-palm, their differences in shape and complexion pointedly apparent yet again and Jaina thought her freckles and burn scars fit Sylvanas’ sun-kissed skin and callouses like a frame would fit a picture or a cover a book.

“You won’t have to try too hard,” Jaina clasped their hands together and the surge of heat made her bold. “Lack of research opportunities left me parched for knowledge.”

“How parched exactly?” 

Sylvanas dropped down on the couch and tugged Jaina along with her. Jaina allowed it, gave in to the pull, and they ended up in a tangled mess, their knees knocking against each other, the nerve endings quivering from the impact, Jaina’s arms bracketing Sylvanas’ shoulders, her hair falling out of her bun once neat.

Jaina let herself drop too, giving little thought to the state of their clothes – the hem of her shirt had slipped out of her pants, her soft leather shoes had been kicked off and now strewed the floor, their exact location unknown, Sylvanas’ dress crumpled under her palms – and then she laid her head on Sylvanas’ chest. 

She took a few seconds to listen to the rapid beat of her heart, and said, “Very. I don’t even need a well-researched thesis. I’d settle for a decently written article.” 

“What about a dissertation?”

“Only if you are feeling ambitious tonight,” Jaina said. 

“Well, you might be happy to know,” Sylvanas said, “that I happen to have a fantastically dry study on arcane agriculture that I am supposed to read and review for army supply purposes.”

Jaina sighed and grinned into Sylvanas’ dress, then she said, “You are allowed to laugh at me but I _am_ happy to know that. However, I shall pick you over wheat, at least for now.”

“Be with me, then,” Sylvanas said and kissed the crown of her head. “Be mine.”

“I already am,” Jaina whispered against her collarbone and the undeniable truth of those three words only made her heart bloom. “Or is this your subtle way of telling me you didn’t book a table at the local restaurant-pub-hall and the rest of the night shall commence on this very couch here?”

“I see you come prepared,” Sylvanas drawled. “I thought you’d know I have more style than to take you out to a place that needs maybe one more exuberant barfight before it falls to...structural disintegrity.”

“Firstly – not a word. Secondly – did you or did you not”–Jaina looked up and then tapped her index finger to Sylvanas’ lower lip–“take me to a dive bar?”

“That wasn’t a date,” Sylvanas said and pecked Jaina’s finger still resting on her lips. “That was sightseeing.”

“The Ranger-General drunk out of her mind was certainly a sight,” Jaina said and slid her finger onto Sylvanas’ chin and then along the length of her jaw right to her earlobe, drawing its contour with her nails – she was all sharp angles and taut skin marred by none of the centuries and millennia passing with her and it made Jaina feel strangely temporary, like a singular drop of water running down the glass of a window, witnessing something wondrous before merging into a stream. “Debatably pleasurable, mind you.”

“You weren’t much better off-”

“I was a _lot_ better,” Jaina said and dragged her fingers down the back of Sylvanas’ neck – she shuddered and shut her eyes before she could see the smile spread on Jaina’s face. 

“I missed you,” Sylvanas said and after she uttered the words, her lips were left ajar, only a fraction of an inch, enough for her teeth to peek through, and Jaina thought she looked like divinity itself then.

“Did you book a table?” 

“I did not.”

“ _Good_.” 

Jaina drowned Sylvanas’ laugh in a kiss, honest and open and absolutely torrid, and if she had been a drop of rain racing down a window, she would’ve boiled and vaporised and ascended before she could reach the bottom.

  
  


***

  
  


“Jaina,” Sylvanas sighed out, her voice struggling itself out of her windpipe barely enough to be considered a sound at all.

“ _Jaina,”_ Sylvanas repeated for emphasis and Jaina looked like she needed way more than a chant of her own name, much like a hymn or a psalm, to break her out of her momentum that made them barrel forward and sink deeper into the couch – the cushions askew, Sylvanas on her back, her dress slipping off her shoulders and riding up her thighs at the same time as abandon took hold of them, Jaina on top of her, hovering, her right hand buried in Sylvanas’ hair and her lips and teeth on her neck, her desire like a thousand pinpricks along Sylvanas’ spine, the sensation of a universe collapsed into–

Sylvanas could not afford herself the luxury of falling apart, not with a very pressing matter at hand called Jaina Proudmoore attempting to set her ablaze on the living room couch. She foresaw her own untimely death and the perfectly unnecessary destruction of furniture that somehow survived the fall of the Arathi Empire and while she deemed both disposable at that moment, she needed to _know_ first. She needed to ask.

Jaina stilled. Her cheeks and her neck were flushed, her freckles had melted into the uniform red of skin, her gaze emanated a heat that broke Sylvanas out in a sweat and as she looked at her with clear, sincere adoration, Sylvanas felt like she was the centre of a private universe. 

She hadn’t felt like that since, since–

Had she ever?

Certainly not since Liadrin and even with her – they had always been pulled apart by their duties, their attention divided, and sharing a bed had felt like sharing it with fifty-five rangers, a drill schedule, a stack of unwritten reports and King Anasterian jovially asking them if they had already settled on a wedding venue and if he could officiate.

“Are you comfortable?” Sylvanas said. 

Jaina considered her for a while with an easy smile and then said, “The couch is a little ornate for my tastes and the cushions are wobbly but you needn’t redecorate for my sake.”

“And you mocked my sense of humour,” Sylvanas scoffed and raised a hand to put a few of Jaina’s runaway locks behind her ear.

“Would you rather have me somewhere else?” she said and Sylvanas knew she understood the true question because her gaze softened further and she leant forward to kiss the side of Sylvanas’ face, only a short peck and none the fervour. “On a bed? On my back?”

“No. Yes. _Eventually_ yes,” Sylvanas managed, her eloquence had seemingly left the premises without saying goodbye or leaving a note, around the time Jaina had decided to pepper her neck with open-mouthed kisses. “Are you comfortable with _this_? I need you to know that I have no expectations–”

“But I do,” Jaina cut her off and cupped Sylvanas’ cheek. “I expect you to tell me what to do. I _trust_ you to tell me what you like.”

Sylvanas’ mind echoed those words back at her, taunting her, and her brows twitched and furrowed as she parsed herself for an answer.

She liked the little death, the moment of rupture, and she liked to be the hand that delivered the sentence, the arms encompassing a spent body, the lips covering a pulse point, the teeth sinking into skin.

She was rarely delivered herself – it required utmost trust in a person, a confidence that the control she’d relinquish would return back to her unharmed and intact, and as she took in Jaina’s expression full of something she could only describe as _love_ , her stomach performed a perfect triple toe loop and she found herself confident.

“Sylvanas, I’d rather not be melodramatic about this – I shall leave that to the experts,” Jaina said after a half-minute of silence, “so I shan’t say I’ll die if I can’t have you. But”–she slid her thumb from the corner of Sylvanas’ mouth to her cheekbone–“if you let me...I’d love to have you. I _want_ to have you.”

“I want you to have me,” she sighed out and kissed the ball of Jaina’s thumb. The muscles and the sinews jumped under her touch and she thought this was control too, freely given and powerful.

“Then take my hand,” Jaina said and reached down, her fingers ghosting across Sylvanas’ wrist, “and teach me. Show me everything.”

Pride swelled in Sylvanas at Jaina’s request – she was to be her point of reference, her gateway, her first contact, her teacher and her subject to study. Although women like Jaina had come before, eager to learn and discover, some fleeting and some near-permanent, none had made Sylvanas mirror their desire so easily, as if there was no greater act of love than to see and to be seen. 

Sylvanas put Jaina’s hand on her thigh, right where her dress ended and so did her sanity, and Jaina didn’t hesitate – she inched her palm under the hem, gliding smoothly, and her skin was hot and dry like cobblestone on a summer day or the hilt of a sword left out in the sun.

“Out of curiosity,” Jaina said, her voice shaky, “where did you plan to take me?”

“To _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_ at the amphitheatre at ten,” Sylvanas said. “They adapted it to Common so I expect it to be abysmal.”

“Is there singing?”

“Singing and dancing and”–Jaina clasped onto her, her fingernails left soft dents hidden under the silk and Sylvanas sucked in a hiss of a breath–“excessive monologues.”

“We’ll make it on time,” Jaina said and lowered herself onto her, settling between her knees. 

Sylvanas’ legs opened on their own volition to make space and Jaina must’ve been a wave of water crashing over her because she could feel her everywhere at once as if she had conformed herself to the shape of her body, pressing down on her with heady determination, and whatever breath she had been holding onto in her lungs left her at the contact.

“Not unless you start undressing me,” Sylvanas said. “Right now.”

Jaina arched an eyebrow at that, a challenge noted and met, and then pushed Sylvanas’ dress up to her waist with a single motion – fluid and inelegant and most effective. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


Jaina felt hot and overdressed as Sylvanas watched her with silent anticipation, a hand in her own hair and another peeling her straps off her shoulders, her gown pooling around her hips like a cloudless night, dark and shimmery, and briefly, Jaina thought how it wasn’t her colour – in white, her skin glowed golden bright, in midnight-blue she looked ethereal but distant, and as beautiful as it lay against her muscles, she wanted it off and away.

“Does this have buttons or–” 

“No,” Sylvanas said, “you’ll have to cut me out of it.”

Maybe it was but a joke but Jaina muttered a spell under her breath anyway and dragged her index finger from the neckline to the hem, revelling in the way Sylvanas shuddered, and as she went, the silk fibres snapped, the fabric separated and revealed Sylvanas to the low light of dusk. Jaina couldn’t remember when the sun had set. Time was slipping out of her hands.

“I’m almost positive I can fix it,” she said and Sylvanas only shook her head and gave her a grin.

Finally, Jaina saw her and all she had imagined so many times before when her mind had wandered and so had her hands, frustration eating away at her as her infatuation had turned to fondness and fondness to something else, elevated and refined.

She saw the freckles she didn’t know they shared, sparsely dusting Sylvanas’ chest – her sternum, her ribs and her breasts, a faint and straight scar running from her navel to the slope of her right hip-bone, and she saw the muscles of her stomach she had already touched but hadn’t witnessed, tensing and relaxing under her gaze.

She had never seen a frame more gorgeous, more brilliant.

Those words, even in the confines of her mind, sounded banal and inadequate, so she leant forward and caged them in a kiss and sealed them with her tongue and her teeth and the spike of her heartbeat hammering away in her eardrums, and Sylvanas accepted her with a sigh.

“Would you,” Jaina started in the gap between two pecks, “show me how you love yourself?” 

“You want me to touch myself?” Sylvanas asked as she freed the top buttons of her shirt, _Sylvanas’_ shirt.

“Only if it pleases you,” she said and Sylvanas answered by biting Jaina’s lower lip, and Jaina’s reaction was immediate and involuntary, a short surge of magic that sent a button flying off and away. It ricocheted on the coffee table before it disappeared under the armchair.

“I’m sure you can fix that too,” Sylvanas said and gave up on undressing Jaina. Instead, she turned her attention back to herself – her hands rid her body of the last of her garments and Jaina thought there was something oddly calming and reassuring about how quickly Sylvanas moved; she seemed nonchalant or wanted to be seen as such, despite the reddening of her cheeks and the bobbing of her throat as if she was swallowing dry air, and Jaina understood that they shared the nerves too along with the freckles.

Before she could let the words fall from her mouth, about infatuation and fondness and love and the capacity to experience all in a moment’s time, Sylvanas grabbed her hands and placed them on her chest right below her breasts and then left them there to latch onto Jaina’s collar and pull her in.

“I don’t much talk about these things. I don’t often let anyone…” Sylvanas trailed off when Jaina bent forward to kiss her. “But when I do, I want to be held. Caressed, I suppose, so that’s what I do. It feels odd to say it but”–her ribs expanded and collapsed under Jaina’s fingers–“I like to imagine that I’m loved.”

“You don’t have to imagine it,” Jaina whispered into her lips. “With me.”

Sylvanas stilled completely with her breath stuck on the inhale and her hands clawing into Jaina’s shirt hard enough to pop a few more of her buttons. Jaina considered it an expected loss.

“I know,” Sylvanas sighed out and a smile consumed both of them. “I think I love you too.”

“You think? What would make you _know_ it?” Jaina said and Sylvanas must’ve grasped her intent to tease because she laid her palm upon Jaina’s jaw and then patted her lips with her thumb.

“Your mouth.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


It was a joke to take the edge away, to answer the sharpness of those three words cutting away at her, something that could be interpreted multiple ways, some more innocent than the rest, but Jaina picked the one universally understood as the most selfless celebration of a body, and Sylvanas had never complained less about becoming the subject of worship.

Jaina’s breath was hot against her and her tongue cool, naturally or by magical means, Sylvanas could not tell. Her skin and her muscles cared little about the whys and the hows anyway, the former shivered and peaked in goosebumps, the latter fluttered and tensed under Jaina’s grasp, her arms holding her thighs in place – as if she wanted to go anywhere, as if her body had any need but to take the love Jaina offered freely and to build upon it, a ladder built step-by-step or a bridge stone-to-stone, steadily reaching forward.

And yet, so precarious.

And Jaina knew this too because she was careful when she wanted to be and careless when Sylvanas wanted it so, and when the moon crested high on the sky so did Sylvanas, lifted first by her own hands and then by Jaina, who delivered her beautifully, holding her through it all, surrounding her, and with that, Sylvanas started to disentangle that knot in her heart she had been twisting tightly for years.

“We can still catch _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_ ,” Jaina murmured into her inner thigh. “If we leave now.”

“Or,” Sylvanas started and brushed the sweat off her eyebrows, “we could cut it close.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Happenings: Jaina and Sylvanas spend the night together (or at least two hours), Sylvanas tackles her issues with vulnerability, Jaina tackles Sylvanas and they confess their love for one another. 
> 
> next up: Vereesa gets a late night visitor


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Sylvanas and Jaina have their first date, Alexstrasza makes a social visit that makes her feel a little too human for comfort, Vereesa experiences pseudo-romantic feelings for the first time in her life and instantly regrets them, there is a little argument animé, and there are parallels and themes present too, as usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone!
> 
> This is a 90% Vereesa-centric chapter and actually contains info and lore (by me, not Blizz) that will be pretty important later.  
> Sylvanas' letter is a reply to the one Vereesa sent her in chapter 17 so you may want to reread that one.
> 
> Thank you so much for your awesome comments and your support even after my one-month break! It felt really cool to come back to all this love for this story :)

Sylvanas felt brand-new. Reforged. Thousands of years had been carved off her by the heat of Jaina’s hand in hers as they’d walked the narrow streets of Windrunner Village, side-by-side, their affiliation unmistakable, and she was simultaneously struck by the sweaty-palm excitement of a first date – an adolescent joy, and a sense of quiet confidence, for she was loved and she loved too. She had professed it all with her fingers and her lips and her words of reassurance, and Jaina answered with her trembling thighs and her choked sob and her wonderful, infuriating inability to fix her dress. _I don’t think I have any finesse left in me_ , Jaina had said so Sylvanas had put her ceremonial armour on. She hadn’t complained.

As she led Jaina through the crowd that had gathered around the amphitheatre on the outskirts of the village, she wondered how different she saw them to the masses of Silvermoon, if their elegant simplicity appealed to her, a far cry from the fashion of the capital _–_ all muted greens and blues and ochres and nary a sequin or a frill present. A third-rate musical at an open-air theatre was as good an excuse as any to catch up and gossip after a gruelling workday and it made infinitely more sense to Sylvanas than the charity balls and the lip service of high society. This had been her childhood, her roots: Alleria taking her out to see plays while their parents had been too busy with work, the two of them with their hoods up, just two street kids sent out to burn their pocket money on fish skewers and candied apples and sweet rice, without any of the prestige their surname had carried. Then, she had done the same to Vereesa – a baton passed down, some self-imposed sisterly responsibility to make sure she experienced the exact same wild oddities she had, that they would both be brought up by the same stories about mythical heroes and damsels in distress and dragons who could level entire mountain ridges. The humour of that didn’t miss her. 

The amphitheatre had seen better days. The once bright limestone, now overrun by red ivy everywhere save for the seats, eroded by years and the grip of the vines, still shone golden-white in the light of the torches but it seemed less grandiose and impressive and wilder and, strangely, cosier than Sylvanas remembered. A bell rang – quarter to ten – and the crowd dutifully assembled into a single line ending at the usher, a young boy brimming with self-importance, and when they reached him, his earnest smile turned smug. He looked like a housecat that had just figured out the arcane lock to the cockatiel’s cage and was now in the business of ending its entire bloodline.

“Your tickets, please, _General_ ”–he proceeded to rip the corner off from each ticket and Sylvanas wanted to strangle him for it _–_ “Enjoy yourselves, each other, the show, this lovely weather. _Everything_.”

“Thank you,” Sylvanas ground out, meaning none of it, snatched their tickets back from him and then took two leaflets from the pile he had on his stand. She wanted to iron them out and put them in a diary so that she could caress them fondly when she is a fifteen-thousand-year-old hag.

“Are you ready to be front-page news tomorrow?” she asked Jaina as they climbed the steps that led to the upper seating tiers. “He looked like he’s just made his fortune.”

“It was going to happen sooner or later,” Jaina said and squeezed her hand as they sat down. “I’m dating a celebrity, after all – Silvermoon’s most eligible bachelorette.”

“Are you reading gossip magazines again?” A short but loud laugh burst out of her and a prim-looking woman turned back in her seat to scowl at her. Sylvanas matched her speed and said, “I’m sorry, have they started yet? No? Then let me enjoy myself for ten more minutes.”

The woman scoffed at her in response and turned back towards the stage. 

“You know that I don’t,” Jaina said. Sylvanas followed her gaze and it landed on the bread vendor who was slowly ascending the steps with her basket, passing flatbreads and spreads in small glass jars to the audience as she went. “But my mother does.”

“That’s one way to keep up with your allies and enemies.”

“That reminds me,” Jaina said. “I should tell you that my mother more or less offered me my title. She wants me to take it again.”

“I am sorry. I know how you feel about that,” Sylvanas sighed out and flagged down the vendor. After Jaina’s last letter she was tentative, to say the least, about her chances to charm Jaina’s parents, if there had ever been much of a chance, to begin with. “I am going to assume that doesn’t make her any happier about this either.”

“Not particularly,” Jaina said and took the garlic breadsticks and the tapenade that Sylvanas bought. “You might have a rough time when I introduce you. I’m just telling you this in case you need an easy and early excuse to get out of all this.”

“Do you want to get rid of me?” Sylvanas said and clinked their breadsticks together as if they were glasses of wine. “Because I would much prefer to stick around and bear the brunt of her ire.”

“Of course not,” Jaina said and grinned, and then broke a piece off her bread. It was still steaming. “I want to be with you. I want to be your woman”–Sylvanas decided to choke on her saliva, just a bit, and Jaina only raised an eyebrow at her–“I just wish to be transparent about what it entails.”

“I didn’t hear anything after ‘I want to be your woman’,” Sylvanas said and reached out to steal Jaina’s food. “You could’ve cursed my ancestors and I would be none the wiser.”

“I shall remember that,” Jaina said and popped the bread in her mouth before Sylvanas could get a hold of it. “For future reference.”

The torches around the stage were lit then by a stagehand, one by one, and the woman ahead of them turned back around again to level Sylvanas with a stare. She rolled her eyes at her.

“The very first day and the manipulation starts,” Sylvanas whispered.

“Oh, yes, how tragic that I’m forcing you to endure my presence.”

“Truly, this suffering is devastating,” Sylvanas said and put her hand on Jaina’s thigh.

“ _Devastating_? Already?” Jaina huffed. “This leaflet says the play is three hours long. You may want to pace yourself a bit more.”

“Or,” Sylvanas drawled and sank her nails into Jaina’s pants. She could feel the warmth of her skin through it. “I can just make sure you suffer along with me.”

“Must you?” Jaina hissed out between her teeth and a tight smile. 

“Everything I have is yours, Jaina. Even my frustration,” Sylvanas said.

When the lights along the tiers went out and a bell rang to signal the start of the play, she twisted to the side to lay a peck on Jaina’s cheeks. Jaina met her halfway in the dark and kissed her wholly and she hoped she wouldn’t mind missing the first five minutes of _Dath’Remar and Tyrande_ because Sylvanas certainly didn’t. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


_My dear Little Moon, my star, my favourite little sister, light of my life and so forth,_

  
  


_You tremendous moron._

_I am saying this with all the love I have in my heart for you which is, coincidentally, also tremendous:_

_Please, do consider thinking before you act, just once in your life. Give it a try, mayhaps you’ll even enjoy it._

_I am begging you to use Jaina’s envelope the next time you want to relay the details of your love life to me because there are things better to keep hidden from His Majesty and his keen, opportunistic eyes, and your Dragon Queen is certainly one. (Though I should add, if she already went so far as to leave you a hoard, maybe we are beyond the point of denial)_

_I shall call her your Friend for now._

_Let me address the rest of your letter and then you may reconsider her status at your pleasure._

_I am both overjoyed and cautious to delve into the topics of attraction, relationships and, ultimately, love with you._

_Overjoyed, because I have wanted you to come to me for advice for centuries. I want you to experience this confusion and I want you to participate more in your own feelings instead of merely letting them happen. It is a good thing_ – _whatever conclusion you may arrive to, you shall come to possess a more profound awareness of your own self._

_I am cautious as well because this journey is difficult and you may end up hurting yourself or hurting others. Although I wish for you to know none of that pain, I think, perhaps, you should._

_Since I do enjoy lists, I shall answer your questions as follows:_

  * _Do I think it is possible for someone to like no one?_



_Very easy to answer: yes. My almost-father-in-law is one of such people and he is at peace with that aspect of his personality. Life is full of variety, Little Moon. The desire to make love or lack thereof does not define a man more than their desire to take up bookkeeping as a profession. (I hope you shan’t ever consider that one because I am wholly unwilling to give you advice on numbers and ledgers)_

  * _Was Alleria like Vandellor?_



_Yes and no. I do not believe she had ever fallen in love, at least not like I tend to fall, but before “go feed Carrot” there had been “go feed Sunfruit”._

  * _How does attraction feel to me?_



_I don’t fashion myself as an expert. I know only two types of attraction: one directed at the mind, the other at the body. The first one I call “Affinity”, the second one is “Desire” and they can both coexist and live separately in your heart._

_In my case, Affinity is like a pull_ – _you meet someone and you are hit with a longing to understand. A wish to see more, to know more about them, about the way they think, about their beliefs, the principles that govern their life, the first thought they have in the morning, the last question they ask themselves at night, from the greatest matters of ethics to the smallest, most insignificant issues. How crispy do they like their toast? How long have they gone without sleep? What was the harshest lesson they have ever had to learn?_

_Desire is about pleasure and intimacy and euphoria. To covet and to be coveted. One day you might look at someone more beautiful than life and you’ll get the urge to make them feel like a deity worshipped at an altar. If this happens, you shall grasp the core of this concept._

_I am sorry, Little Moon. I would love to elaborate but I cannot talk about this with you without wanting to dunk my head in lye. Alleria was the one to give me “the talk” and she was not embarrassed at all. I wish she was. Believe me, you are still better off with me._

_Writing all of this down has given me a sense of clarity – I do believe I have been in love with the Lady Proudmoore for a while now for I am full of affinity and desire._

_Thank you for bullying me into her correspondence._

_Now, as your sister, I implore you to sift through your feelings for your Friend and take note of them each._

_Do yourself a favour and find a way to meet her, talk to her, chase after whatever fire she lights up in you._

_As your General, I implore you to stay safe and keep the mission as your first priority._

_If you find out anything, do not hesitate to write._

_(Use Jaina’s envelope!)_

  
  


_Love,_

_Lady Moon_

  
  
  


Vereesa sighed.

Unlike the previous twenty-five million sighs she had accumulated in her lifetime, this specific one was neither a product of weariness, annoyance nor boredom – it was giddiness distilled, and if she combed through more of her feelings, as Sylvanas had suggested in her letter (read and reread twenty-five million times if Vereesa estimated correctly and why wouldn’t she), she could also find elation in it.

The obvious source would’ve been Jaina – she had left to have her big, romantic date with Sylvanas, surely full of public handholding and ardent confessions of love if she knew her sister at all, and her nervous excitement had been contagious. It had jumped over to Vereesa like a flea from a stray dog on a moderately overcast summer day. 

She stopped to reconsider her similes.

She had been submerged in second-hand joy like the barnacles of Boralus Harbour would sink into a tide, completely and helplessly.

That was somewhat better.

The less evident answer lay in the hands of her pocket watch going haywire over the last two days – first, they had crawled counter-clockwise as if someone had been flying west, then the two dials had started converging until they ticked in unison again. It looked beautiful in her mind – Alexstrasza soaring through the sky in her full glory, the wind beneath her wings whistling, sharp and melodic, the same song with new instruments–

_Forests? Like sprawling mounds of moss, vibrant with life, a deep green that you may call blue, like you would with faraway mountains half-steeped in fog._

_Canyons? Like cracks on cobblestone. A riverbed in drought season. A flower shall look at it and say “I’ll make my home here”._

_Mortals below like specks of dust. They think themselves insignificant. They are wrong. There’s nothing trivial about them._

Vereesa came to with a gasp and a row of dry coughs reverberating through her. She let go of the railings to inspect her fingers, the whiteness of her skin and the pressure of splinters under her nails – she must've sunk them into the wood, not piercing her skin, just sitting there to remind her that they could if they wanted to. 

She knew Jaina would scold her for her silence. Sylvanas would even yell and call her a colourful synonym for “moron” and lecture her on her priorities. Alleria would just slap her on the crown of her head and she would feel like a child again, mostly ignored or patronised until she finally managed to royally screw up and have her lack of maturity questioned as though anyone had ever seen her as anything more than an imbecile. 

Truthfully, she hadn’t found the right words to explain her current predicament, at least not in a way that wouldn’t see her dunked right into a bucket full of Light, cleansed of her nonexistent sins. She had been having someone else’s thoughts run parallel with her own, fully formed and wholly unprompted, yet never distressing in their nature. As if she had just had an idea without the spark of creation – it was almost like a caress on her cheeks and the hand that delivered it was hearth-warm and _loving_. Definitely nothing like demonic possession that she assumed would feel moderately awkward. Or at least, she would be rather awkward about it and then the demon would be awkward-by-proxy, preferably to the point where they cannot further stand the embarrassment of sharing her body and they’d promptly dematerialise to save face. That sounded like a solid anti-demon tactic. She filed these thoughts away for later.

Her guard schedule had been lying in an envelope in her pocket, crumpling up more and more with each hour, waiting for them to reach a reputable port with a functioning post office. She didn’t expect Alexstrasza to appear out of thin air to entertain all her runaway thoughts and daydreams, even if the notion made her stomach start a somersault routine fit for a court jester. And yet, as she took her knife off her belt and turned it around in her hands, her fingers too warm against the pearl handle and the steel blade, she wanted to believe the implications, she wanted her anticipation to take root. She scoured the cloudless sky for a shadow and waited for the sound of wings, and if Nathanos decided to relieve her of her guard duty early, she would just tell him that she had fallen in love with the constellations and the stories they carry, about love and loss and revival, mythological heroes overcoming great evil and finding resolution in death. He would then look at her oddly and he would shrug too and then never mention it again.

“Tell me about them.”

Vereesa spun around fast enough to make her inner ears buzz and pop. Her knife slipped from her fingers and stabbed the deck a few inches from her right foot with an accusatory clang. Only her iron grip on the railing stopped her knees from buckling and her body from toppling over and following suit. Alexstrasza, Queen of the Dragons, Life-Binder, really, just _Alexstrasza_ was standing on the main deck, her white caftan billowing around her in the wind, looking either self-assured or comically unpretentious, Vereesa couldn’t tell, as if sneaking onto the _Sungrace_ was second nature to her, much like going to a bakery for fresh flatbread or checking a book out of a library. As Vereesa looked at her with her lungs painfully tight and her jaw locked, she thought she would never regain her breath.

“The mythology of the stars,” Alexstrasza added. “Would you tell me about it?”

“You are here,” Vereesa blurted out and bent down to pick her knife back up as quickly as she could without dropping it again, this time on her boots or, even worse, on Alexstrasza’s sandals.

“I was nearby,” Alexstrasza said and smoothed down a strand of hair on the top of her head that had delusions of grandeur. She still wore her human disguise, her skin still tan and her hair still midnight-dark and only the flickering torchlight revealed its copper tone. “Visiting Kezan to learn more about this thing called ‘business’.”

“ _Nearby_ ,” Vereesa echoed and her lips twisted into a grin.

What did distance mean to her anyway? _A toss of a pebble._

What did time? _A blink of an eye._

Was it just as fickle and fleeting and capricious? _Decades slipping through my fingers like sand through a sieve. My memories are caught on the net. Constant pressure, unrelenting, I don’t know how to stand it. I cup my palms but I hold onto nothing._

Vereesa stared at Alexstrasza, unable to voice the questions lodged in the back of her brain, and she held her gaze only for a moment before she looked away and towards the cresting waves collapsing on themselves. 

“You seem to be rather fond of the goblins,” Vereesa said because it was easy, it was casual, it didn’t open a thousand doors she wasn’t sure she could close.

“I am. I find their creativity inspiring,” Alexstrasza announced to the waves. “If only they didn’t make it so difficult to mingle with them. They are not the most trusting of all the creatures of Azeroth.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix,” Vereesa said and averted her eyes before she could burn a hole into Alexstrasza’s profile or get accused of ogling. “Next time try to be smaller and greener.”

“You are so wise.” Alexstrasza’s eyes were back on her again and Vereesa was no longer jealous of the sea. “And here I thought my complete ignorance on tax evasion was the suspect element.”

Alexstrasza laughed then, deep and tinkling, and if it had made flowers blossom on the deck and the railings and, perhaps, in Vereesa’s heart too, she would’ve found nothing odd about it. Something was already blooming in her ribcage, a molten-hot ember catching the wind, and she identified it as pride. 

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Vereesa started, “or as though I’m not happy to see you because I am. Very much so.”

“But?” Alexstrasza said and her eyes flashed away from Vereesa’s face, fixating on her left shoulder instead.

“ _But_ ,” Vereesa said, “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”

“You mean,” Alexstrasza translated helpfully, “that you did not invite me.”

“Well, I didn’t”–Vereesa tapped the handle of her knife to the railing–“Nevertheless, please, do consider yourself...retroactively invited.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Alexstrasza reached out towards her and Vereesa – hoping that her newfound mindreading capabilities extended to this moment too – passed her knife to her. It must not have been _quite right_ because Alexstrasza arched her brows high, opened her mouth and worried it around nothing like she was the most beautiful beached carp this world had to offer, and then shut it without saying anything. Vereesa stifled the considerable urge to take her knife back and politely excuse herself forever to avoid further embarrassment. She felt _ridiculous_.

“Still, I must ask because I’m risking much here,” she said, chewing her words carefully, working around her desire to flee. “How did you know I’d be on guard duty tonight?”

“It was an educated guess,” Alexstrasza said and stared at the blade in her palm so Vereesa stared at it too and it offered no wisdom. “Deduction.”

“Really.”

“Well, it sounded better than the truth,” Alexstrasza said. “That you were calling to me and I accepted your call.”

“I was _not._ ” Vereesa couldn’t help her laughter bubbling up in her. She must’ve been feverish, definitely, if not entirely delirious. Most certainly stupid. “How would I? I don’t know how to–”

“I shall tell you,” Alexstrasza sighed out and leant forward and before Vereesa could say a word, she slipped the knife back into the small pouch on her belt. “I promise, I shall.”

“But?”

“ _But_ ”–Alexstrasza stepped back and folded her arms across her chest–“I’m afraid it would scare you and I shan’t be able to take my words back.”

“Try me.”

“May I try you later?” Alexstrasza said and the air felt suddenly cold on Vereesa’s cheeks. _Very early autumn winds, surely_. “Could we pretend for a little while that we are merely two friends meeting serendipitously?”

Vereesa wanted to protest several words of that sentence. She said, “We could.”

Alexstrasza nodded her thanks and said, “I’d like to stargaze – the sky is much clearer out here than in Kezan.”

As Alexstrasza looked into her eyes, Vereesa could see slate-grey clouds piling high, mixing with the acidic smoke from the factories, their bellies glowing green and orange and purple.

“Out of curiosity,” she said. “Was it smoke signals?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m burning up with arcane energy. Maybe I caught fire and I didn’t notice,” Vereesa mused and turned around to rest her elbows on the railings. “You flew by and you saw it and here you are.”

“Is that a joke?” Alexstrasza looked perplexed and Vereesa thought confusion looked rather odd on her, like the empty space left by a misplaced piece in a mosaic or a stroke on a painting that didn’t fit.

“Well, an attempt. Not a very good one at that,” Vereesa said and huffed out a little laugh. “I can’t always be funny, you know. I have to change it up a bit lest you get complacent.”

Alexstrasza offered her a smile anyway, and then turned towards the sea as well; they were a few good feet apart but Vereesa could still feel the molten energy radiating off her. She soaked it all up. Her ranger armour was designed for the dry and warm weather of Quel’Thalas, with a sensible overcoat thrown on for the biting winds of the Alterac Mountains, and it still felt stuffy and sweaty now and she wanted to be rid of it. Discreetly as she could, she popped open the top three buttons of her undershirt peaking out of her brigandine.

“So, about the constellations,” Vereesa said then before she could blurt out one of her many concurrently running thoughts, and made a gesture between them that looked like the lovechild of a handwave, and a rare and uncoordinated method of distance measurement. “Do you mind if I–”

“Not at all,” Alexstrasza said and very politely copied her body language, so Vereesa slid closer until their shoulders only had inches between them.

“Do you see that one?” Vereesa pointed at a cluster of stars that formed a lacklustre ladle, its handle burning brighter than the rest, with a single blinking star at the end. “That’s _Dath’Remar’s Chariot_. They say when he died, he ascended to the sky and it was exactly as dramatic as you’d expect. There was a thunderstorm, his horses spat lightning and so and so”–she traced the handle with her index finger–“Rain gathered in the tracks his chariot left and that is how the Elrendar river came to be.”

Alexstrasza’s lips curled into a light smile. Vereesa could see her breaths – milk-white puffs of humidity dissolving slowly into the night air, some of them forming circles of smoke and, for a brief moment, Vereesa imagined her with a pipe and some good quality shimmerweed. Her immediate laugh came out as a choked sob she hid behind her hand.

“That’s factually untrue, by the way,” Vereesa added after a beat. “It was already right there when we arrived in Quel’Thalas.” 

“Of course. Every myth lies,” Alexstrasza said. “What they choose to lie about is your cultural legacy.”

“What does the _Chariot_ tell you about us?”

Alexstrasza put her chin in her palm and she said, “You wish to pretend that your forefather was a hero to be worshipped”–she faced Vereesa again–“A saviour. A demigod. A man who shaped the land with his very hands.”

“Well, we must,” Vereesa whispered. “Otherwise we’d have to admit that the thing we do best is to take what is not ours and then ruin it beyond repair.”

Alexstrasza hummed in response, and then took Vereesa’s hand that was still pointing in the general direction of the _Chariot_ and steered it southward. “What about that one?”

“Oh,” Vereesa offered. “That’s just a chicken.”

“An extraordinary chicken of legendary constitution?”

“No,” Vereesa said and smothered the smile threatening her. “A regular one. Didn’t you know we revere them? That’s why you can’t get rotisserie chicken in Silvermoon.”

“You are making fun of me.”

“You are getting better at this,” Vereesa said and grinned at her. “Right next to it – that’s the _Phoenix_. It rose from the ashes of Zin-Azshari.”

“Didn’t that sink?” Alexstrasza said and then a small whale or a dolphin – Vereesa couldn’t make out the shape in the dark – jumped out of the water in the distance and crashed back into it with a splash.

“It did but you really can’t nitpick like that,” Vereesa said. “It ruins the magic.”

“Well, I was there,” Alexstrasza said. “It was certainly ruined by magic.”

Vereesa shook her head and whistled lowly. “You really have no place to criticise my sense of humour.”

“Wait a few thousand years and yours shall dry up too,” Alexstrasza said and gave her an appropriately wry smile and Vereesa couldn’t decide what hit her the hardest: the sadness around her eyes or the idea that they could traverse the same earth in a millenium or two and she would still be lagging behind – an inferior flavour of timelessness. 

“Your experience is different but not worse,” Alexstrasza quipped, searching her face and Vereesa’s thoughts drummed loud in her skull. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Vereesa said and Alexstrasza bristled at her words. “You’re in my head.”

“Where you see stories in the stars, I see my children,” she said as if Vereesa’s accusation was a minor bump in the road and, therefore, entirely ignorable, and she touched her hand again with the very tip of her fingers, perhaps as an apology. It took all of Vereesa’s willpower to stop herself from jumping back when static electricity bit into her skin. “Look at that single, prominent star in the _Chariot_.”

“It hasn’t always been there,” Vereesa said, giving up, and swallowed dryly. “Wasn’t there when I was a kid.”

“That’s my son,” Alexstrasza said and spread her fingers out on Vereesa’s gauntlet. “I sent his soul up to the sky because his body wouldn’t serve him anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Alexstrasza said and clasped her hand. “It was a wretched existence. He was brought to life to destroy – he never knew anything else, and destroy, he did. Ten Kul Tiran flagships before he sank along with them.”

_Derek Proudmoore._

_Of course._

Their lives interconnected in numerous strange ways she couldn’t quite comprehend. The realisation was the equivalent of a gut-punch and Vereesa could curse herself out for being so dense, so slow, yet again. _Always_. She didn’t have Jaina’s quick wit or Sylvanas’ acumen for patterns and grand strategy and she couldn’t read between the lines as well as Alleria had done so once, ignoring all the fluff and finding the core truth in everything. She twisted her wrist under Alexstrasza’s touch and interlocked their fingers and watched as the bulk of her gauntlet swallowed up the hand in her palm. That was a link she understood, a simple act of sympathy and support, that was something she could do. She hoped it was enough.

“You feel guilty,” she noted and she must’ve been right because Alexstrasza tightened her hold on her and her magic flared white-hot behind Vereesa’s eyelids. “Because you are here and he is up there.”

“It is true,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, and her admittance seemed like defeat.

“I wish-”

“You saved me exactly at the right time.” Alexstrasza found her voice again. “Not a moment sooner, not a moment later.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because no one else could’ve done it.”

“You know that’s not true,” Vereesa quipped but she wanted to believe her.

“It’s true enough,” Alexstrasza said and their argument came to an end but not to a conclusion. “Tell me about those stars.”

“I like that one,” Vereesa said after a minute of silence and deliberation where she pondered if it was worth it to stand her ground and figured that she could dance to Alexstrasza’s tune. “It’s the _Lynx._ Legend has it that she was once a princess proud and wild and free and she begged Belore to save her from her marriage to some jerk of a prince.”

“And Belore turned her into a lynx,” Alexstrasza finished. “No longer eligible to marry in quel’dorei society.”

“Well, I’m not so sure anymore,” Vereesa said. “Maybe I should ask someone who was there. This could all be the fabrication of an overactive imagination.”

“Are we still talking about the constellations?”

“You know we aren’t.” Vereesa shook their joined hands gently. She could play too. “What is this? Am I imagining this?”

Alexstrasza looked at their hands and let out a sigh so mournful that it almost made Vereesa let up on her interrogation. 

“No, you aren’t,” Alextrasza said and every word sounded like someone forced them out of her with a gnomish hydraulic press.

“Right now, I can _feel_ your magic coursing through you. Coursing through me”–Alexstrasza snapped her hand away and she let her–“What did you do to me?”

“You offered me your life, Vereesa–”

“Of course I did,” Vereesa cut her off. “You were dying and I’m no healer.”

“–And I took it,” Alexstrasza sighed out. “You should’ve died.”

“I had no intention to do that.”

“Do you understand the gravity of this? I took your _life source_ ,” Alexstrasza said and her eyes flashed with an intensity that knocked the air out of Vereesa. “I built myself anew from it. You weren’t supposed to survive that. You knew this and you gave it to me anyway.”

“I’m sorry, are you upset with me?” Vereesa said. She wanted to laugh. There was no mirth left in her entire body. “Would you prefer me dead?”

“ _Never_.” Alexstrasza’s voice had an alien undertone to it, brassy and hot, and it made Vereesa take a step back. “Do not ever say that to me.”

“I guess now you _are_ upset.”

“ _Yes_ , you are getting better at this too,” Alexstrasza said. “Do you have any clue what it is like to have you chatter inside my head like a tap opened, a constant stream of–”

“–impressions and emotions,” Vereesa finished for her and Alexstrasza didn’t seem amused. “I do have a clue.”

“You are so chaotic and frustrated and it makes me frustrated too. Your emotions jump over to me like–” Alexstrasza snapped her mouth shut and frowned at Vereesa as if she had personally put the image of flea-ridden stray dogs in her mind which was true enough.

“Well, stop reading my mind.”

“I _cannot_.” Alexstrasza gripped the railing next to Vereesa’s hand. “I would but I have just as little control over this as you do.” 

Vereesa looked at her, at her hair rippling in the wind, the wildness of her ever-calm, ever-gentle eyes, and she covered her hand with hers again. Alexstrasza looked like she was ready to disperse into the wind.

“I am not reading your mind,” she added, her gaze glued to Vereesa’s face. “You aren’t an open book. I would sooner liken it to...lithography, I suppose.”

“First economics and now printing,” Vereesa said. “Is the Red Dragonflight finally entering the industrial age?”

“I am not any less frustrated by that comment,” Alexstrasza said.

“Lithography,” Vereesa repeated dutifully. “I’m listening.”

“I never get to see the full picture,” Alexstrasza said. “It is only a half print – I need different colours still.”

“So, what is this then?” Vereesa said. “Did my soul give you indigestion when you ate it?

“I did no such thing,” Alexstrasza said and squinted at her and Vereesa knew the tension was snapping between them. “I do not understand the nature of our connection. It is unprecedented. I couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t all in my head – an emotional aftershock. I needed to know.”

“You know, you could’ve just told me this,” Vereesa said eventually. “I am not scared. I don’t think I’m losing my mind and I don’t think you are either. You don’t need to tiptoe around me and chitchat about constellations even though I know I’m a splendid party.”

_You make my heart soar, is that real?_

_You make me so excited I could crawl out of my skin. Can you feel it?_

_You are so beautiful. More than Life itself. Do you see yourself with my eyes?_

_Are we two opposing mirrors reflecting the same image to infinity?_

Alexstrasza’s eyes widened and her lower lip twitched but she said nothing and her silence hung heavy above them. Vereesa considered throwing herself overboard to live the rest of her life as a hermit crab.

“I truly wanted to _chitchat_ about constellations,” Alexstrasza said and pulled her hand from under Vereesa’s. It was trembling. She buried it in the folds of her caftan. “I should go before your shift is over and Ranger Nathanos finds you with more than just stars for company. I don’t believe he would merely shrug and never mention me again.”

“Would you–”

“Yes,” Alexstrasza said and rewarded her with a smile. “I would love to have your guard schedule.”

  
  


_~~~_

  
  


Jaina appeared on her bed at two in the morning with a discreet pop and a flash of pink light, and she filled the room with the faint smell of garlic bread and lavender-infused smoke. _Mosquito repellent._ It reminded Vereesa of the village fairs of her youth with the questionably safe rides and the candy vendors and Lirath’s infallible tendency to get lost.

“Hey,” Vereesa said and closed the book she had been reading. “How was your date?”

“Well, you were right,” Jaina said, her face unusually serious. “It was neither frivolous nor too fancy.” 

“Did you–Did you have fun?”

“It was fine.”

“ _Really_.” Vereesa kicked off her covers and, accidentally, her bed linen too, and her pillows fell as well with a thud of solidarity.

“I’m kidding,” Jaina said and her face was finally split by a blinding grin. “It was...well.”

“Jaina Proudmoore doesn’t have words?”–Vereesa crawled off her bed and greeted Jaina with a one-armed hug and a little squeeze–“That’s a first.” 

“I feel like everything is so–” Jaina said and looped an arm around her waist. “We fit each other _so well_ – intellectually, emotionally, physically–”

“You know, I don’t mind if you keep this vague.”

“What are the chances of meeting a woman like Sylvanas at my age?”–Jaina extracted herself from their embrace–“Some people go a lifetime without finding someone who could make them feel so comfortable, so _seen_.”

Vereesa found cruel humour in that statement and a lovely opportunity for self-deprecation but she chose to let Jaina have her moment of happiness. She said, “You really are in love with her. Just head first, no doubts, huh?”

“That’s not true,” Jaina said. “Of course I have doubts. Just not about her.”

“What about then?”

“This mission, my parents, the future”–Jaina counted down on her fingers–“What any of this would mean in practice.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Vereesa said. “You ought to wait at least until you bump into an actual issue.”

“I know. You are right of course,” Jaina said. “I _am_ very happy. I just hope I deserve this.”

“You do,” Vereesa said and she knew her voice was treacherous as it wobbled and stumbled. “You deserve everything.”

“Vereesa.” Jaina cupped her face in her palms and Vereesa didn’t protest. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Vereesa said and when a single tear decided to race down her face, she smeared it with the ball of her thumb. “I don’t think I am.”

“Do you–” Jaina stopped. “Does this have anything to do with–”

“Yes.” Vereesa still didn’t have the words but it didn’t matter because Jaina was right there to scoop her up into a hug. She draped her long limbs over her and held on to their embrace until it got awkward, and she abhorred how warm Jaina felt, how her magic crackled under her skin, and how it didn’t compare at all.

“I’m so stupid,” Vereesa said and let her tears fall freely. “I thought...I thought.”

“You are okay,” Jaina mumbled into her shoulder. “I’m here.”

“I’m so out of my depth.”

“And that’s fine,” Jaina said. “You shall learn to swim then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you want to kill me please note that the tags are unchanged :)  
> with this, we conclude the second part of this fic and we are onto kalimdor and the last third. or half. depends.
> 
> edit: it was confusing so: all the italics are Alex's thoughts and feelings. She sometimes reflects back what Vereesa's thinking tho (last few lines). The nature of mindreading is that you sometimes think about what she thinks about when she thinks about what you think in an infinite loop like mirrors reflecting each other. No, I'm not on acid.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's episode:  
> Jaina's entire life is the X-Files theme song and compartmentalisation, Sylvanas' work bites her in the backside, Kalimdor is Right Here Right Now, I can't believe we finally arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Bit of a filler, bit of a bridge, on the upside you only had to wait 7 days for it.  
> Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments, if you like it you should tell me (or put a ring on it, whatever floats your boat)

_Anytime now_ , Jaina thought, as she breathed in the biting early morning air and soaked in the rays of the sun that were noticeably weaker now than a few weeks ago when the _Sungrace_ had left the port of Silvermoon. Everything was telling her that autumn was right around the corner and she should enjoy the warmth while she could and get smart and cajole one more tub of hand lotion out of Modera because her knuckles’ immediate reaction to the end of summer was getting all red and chapped and annoyingly painful.

 _Anytime now_. 

She knew this from the minuscule shift in the wind – it undulated heavier around her, dragged down by specks of sand it had carried off a beach. As she closed her eyes and let the magic encircle her, she could smell pine needles and the heady scent of beached clams left stranded by the tide, their shells ajar, slowly drying-up, waiting for sea snails or crabs to find them and help them shuffle off their mortal coil.

The pocket of her robe sagged with the weight of a letter and Jaina’s fingertips tingled with the magic of the alarm system she had set up. The image of the shore dispersed in her mind to give way to Sylvanas telling her about her day in beautiful cursive, perhaps about Rommath’s venture into business, about the failed ranger recruits and the few who survived basic training, or about her ongoing efforts to renovate and refurbish her Silvermoon flat. That week, she was enamoured with palm wicker armchairs and burlap hammocks and buckwheat-hull pillows, and as thrilled as Jaina was to finally arrive in Kalimdor, she couldn’t deny her longing to be swinging in those hammocks, preferably embraced by Sylvanas’ tall frame, her strong arms–

“Land!” Rhonin’s voice boomed across the main deck to jerk Jaina out of her reverie and smack the silly smile off her face too. As he propped himself on the railings to see better, his entire body shaking with excitement, Jaina could already see him slipping and falling overboard and then Vereesa jumping after him without a second of hesitation, both of them forgetting all about applied magic. Nathanos only took a look at Rhonin, sighed, and then he pulled him back to the deck by the hood of his robes.

“Good, I can’t wait to be off this ship,” Nathanos said.

“Ah, I thought you started to get into the groove,” Rhonin said. “I haven’t seen you puke in days.”

“Because I’m a very discreet man,” Nathanos said and stepped into the space between Vereesa and Jaina to rest his elbows on the railings. “Lucky for everyone, really.”

Jaina thought about her illicit letters, her late-night rendezvous with Sylvanas, the constant, mind-numbing and, frankly, _flustering_ noises coming from Modera’s cabin, Kael’thas’ drinking habit, Vereesa’s barely concealed breakdown and an entire dragon on the _Sungrace_ , and she had to agree with him.

“I’ll inform Captain Anya,” Vereesa announced mournfully and Jaina didn’t have to think too long to find a reason for it. “And Archmage Modera too, I suppose. Hopefully only them.”

“Good luck with that, Rees. I’ll start preparing the boats,” Nathanos said and whacked Rhonin on the back. “You are coming too. You’re getting lazy.”

When Rhonin’s complaints were only distant murmurs and Jaina was finally alone on the bow, she sank her hand in her pocket and fished around for the envelope with the letter ‘S’ on it. 

She frowned – it was empty. 

With growing trepidation, she opened her mother’s envelope. Her eyebrows shot up at the sight of the contents: several colourful pages cut out of _The_ _Gossip Mill_ (she couldn’t mistake those purple headings for anything else) that she opted to ignore for now and even more letter papers filled with her mother’s unmistakable, slanted writing.

  
  


_Dear Jaina,_

  
  


_I initially wrote “My Daughter” but my finely-tuned maternal instincts told me that you would be upset with an address too formal and you would burn my letter out of spite which I’d consider counter-productive to this whole process._

_According to my calculations, you should be reaching Northern Kalimdor in a few hours unless you were held up by unforeseen circumstances or, perhaps, capsized, which, by the way, I gave you no permission to do, so please refrain from such an act even if it would vex me greatly and my vexation would please you just as much._

Jaina had to laugh, there was not much else to do – her mother somehow managed to make a self-deprecating joke, inject several moderately cutting remarks about her, and judge their sailing speed with frightening accuracy, all in just two short paragraphs, and Jaina didn’t know if she was supposed to feel impressed or insulted by her accomplishment.

_As you might be able to tell, I haven’t had to write letters in quite a bit that were neither instructions, commands nor invitations for functions hence I am, for lack of a better word, rusty in these matters._

_Here I am, nearing my fiftieth year, and I have no idea how to uphold a correspondence with my own daughter. Attempts had been made, attempts had been abandoned and now I do not know you anymore, simple as that. I feel like I am only scratching at the surface and I do it so in a manner so crude that the more I try, the more I hurt you._

_I do realise you aren't twelve anymore, Jaina. I understand that there is an adult person with grievances to whom I need to reintroduce myself because I don’t want my daughter to be a stranger to me and I don’t want to be a stranger to her either. I wish to learn._

_I would like to learn all I can about you, all that you would choose to relay, knowing fully well that I have not earned your trust as much as I wish I would have and that I slighted you in numerous different ways I probably cannot even comprehend and, therefore, cannot ask for absolution either._

_Firstly, I need to acquaint myself with the exact nature of my shortcomings and I trust you to be forthcoming about them. Tell me all and don’t hold back, put everything on the table and I shall do the same, and I hope our shared understanding shall bring us closer and not further apart._

Jaina pressed a sigh through her teeth and let it whistle past her as she turned the letter over in her hand. Her mother’s words were _sobering_ , in a good way, like a bucket of ice water after a wild after-exam Kirin Tor party. Jaina didn’t know what she expected but this wasn’t it. Her worst-case scenario was a stuffy and impersonal letter focusing on all of Jaina’s responsibilities and none on the strain on their relationship, and her best-case scenario was an empty apology. She bristled at her own thoughts and blamed it on the wind. 

I am sorry I always treated you like a child?

I am sorry I was never interested in you as a person?

_I am sorry I sent you away?_

In a way, this was much better – her mother could’ve brushed everything under the rug but maybe, just maybe, she had inferred the truth from Jaina’s last visit, that they were almost past the point of no return and she needed a lot more than a gesture of good faith.

_I do not know how to start, however. Surprising you may find this but I am the image of my mother and she was the image of her mother too and so and so. Our family tree is sturdy and tall and rather uniform. All formidable women designed to feel their feelings, discreetly and in private, and not to discuss or share them. You know the Kul Tiran way_ – _these things are simply not done. In that sense, I am glad I had no chance to instil such habits in you. I do not want you to hate me like I hated my mother and I do not want to force a life on you that isn’t yours._

 _I sent you a few articles from your favourite newspaper,_ The Gossip Mill _, and some from quel’dorei tabloids as well, all rather interested in your lover? Girlfriend? Betrothed? I hope her status isn’t so advanced as of yet because I swim in certain political currents and I would prefer a warning before I drown._

_“The Ranger-General accessorises! Who is her new arm-candy?”_ Jaina muttered in bemused Thalassian. _“Our favourite bachelorette made her relationship official with her Kirin Tor beau. Thousands of women and even some men particularly slow on the uptake weep as the nation mourns.”_

It was melodramatic enough to be the correct translation and Jaina was at least glad that no one had been around to take candid pictures of them with one of those gnomish machines she had seen in Stormwind.

_I suppose I should be congratulating you on your relationship. News of this shall eventually circle around to Kul Tiras and to your father, and I shall be ready to take him head-on just as I shall be ready to bear the snide remarks of the Waycrests and the Ashvanes and the insufferable joy of the Stormsongs over the failed unification of our houses. I could not have been able to bear it for myself but for you, I can. Suffice it to say, I have been thinking quite a lot since you left for Kalimdor about the choices that we make purely for ourselves and I have come to the realisation that I have never in my life prioritised myself. Clearly, I have never prioritised you either, so what is it that I live for, Jaina? Whose happiness am I working towards?_

_I am afraid I might be too old to reconsider my circumstances. I have no regrets about the life I lived for I brought three amazing people into this world and that is compensation enough but I would regret it if I denied you your own version of happiness_ –

A drop of a tear she didn’t know she had been growing in the corner of her eye landed with a splat and washed away some of the ink. She let it roll off the paper, leave a watery trail and end its journey on the deck before she waved her hand and murmured a quick spell to fix the damage. It was never too late, not for something like this, maybe not even for the two of them– 

“Jaina?”

Modera’s voice slid through her thoughts like a hot knife, and she scrambled to fold the letter in half and stuff it back in her pocket before she could make her way to the bow and comment on Jaina’s sorry state with a light joke that cuts deeper than intended.

Modera must have noted her discomfort because she stopped a few feet away from her and said, “Kael’thas is having a leadership meeting in ten. I can tell him to wait a bit if you want to reapply your mascara.”

“Thank you,” Jaina said without turning and brushed away her tears with a treacherously shaking hand. “I shall be there on time.”

“Girlfriend trouble?” Modera stepped next to her and Jaina thought that if a vision could have the ability to slap her silly, this would’ve been the one: Archmage Modera with suspiciously blushed skin, a half-empty glass of red wine in her hand, donning an absurdly elaborate gold brocade dress robe – clearly, Nathanos wasn’t the only one who thought the day was fit for a celebration. “You know, all these strapping young lads on this ship and I probably still have the most experience out of all of them.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Jaina said and laughter sprouted in her lungs so easily. “Did you just come here to brag about the innumerable broken hearts you’ve left in your wake?”

“No,” Modera said. “I’d rather not scar you for life.”

“Sylvanas is great,” Jaina said after a beat. “It’s my mother.”

“Oh.” Modera started popping her knuckles, methodically going through them, left hand and then right, before she continued, “Is she...how is she? Is she quite mad at me? I admit the production I put on was probably ill-advised at best–”

“She didn’t mention you,” Jaina cut her off, a little less-than-gentle, and Modera snapped her mouth shut and pressed it into a thin line.

_I could not have been able to bear it for myself but for you, I can._

Jaina trained her eyes on her, on the taut whiteness of her lips, devoid of blood, the slight twitch of her eyebrow – most likely a nervous tick, and she thought she could feel something unfurl in her skull. It reminded her of the flowering tea she had once bought in Dalaran – a fragrant and awful realisation bloomed in her under boiling hindsight and she couldn’t stuff the suspicion back into the folds of her brain anymore. It had opened its petals and it was here to stay. 

_I am afraid I might be too old to reconsider my circumstances._

Modera looked into the distance, maybe at the thickly towering, domineering rain clouds gathering over the mountain range ahead that Jaina couldn’t name, maybe at the sunlight stabbing through them anyway with a show of stubbornness, maybe at the ebb and flow, and her face was a case study in restraint, poorly executed. Jaina wanted to take her up on her offer, send her away and ask for ten more minutes of time to skim through her mother’s letter for a hint or a throwaway line. A confirmation that she hadn’t gone completely mad, that her instincts were sharp as ever, that she had somehow found the most unexpected and most horrifying context to share.

But, she could not. She had work to do and thus her suspicion was forced into a too-small box anyway, she sank it deep into a drawer in her mind and turned the lock on it.

“You do know you can talk to me, right?” Modera said.

“Not about this,” Jaina said. “I don’t think.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


“Vereesa and Rhonin,” Anya drawled and rolled her tongue on all the letters “r” at her disposal. Her brows were deeply furrowed and her eyes were locked on a spot on the ceiling of the captain’s cabin that was overrun by spiderwebs, and she looked like she was mentally calculating the landmass of a small planet or the airspeed velocity of a common Wetlands swallow. “You are the first reconnaissance team. I’m assigning you five men”–she looked back at the map laid out on Kael’thas’ table and circled an area with her index finger–“I want you to scout the entire northern peninsula. Make good time on it, all right?”

“We can do that in two days,” Vereesa mumbled, resting her chin in the nest of her fingers, and Jaina thought having given a task already made her look livelier and the prominent circles under her eyes just a bit lighter too. “Provided we don’t have a run-in with enemy patrols.”

“In case you do, you know the protocol?” Anya said and Rhonin patted his pocket that – Jaina assumed – hid his copy of the _Portable Portal_.

“Yes, sir. Ma’am,” he said. “Captain.”

Anya nodded at him and turned towards Nathanos who was nursing an anti-seasickness potion in one hand and a bucket in the other, and he had a particularly sour impression on his face to let everyone know exactly how potent the potion was. Not very.

“Nathanos, Jaina, Modera? _Archmage_ Modera?” Anya corrected herself and – to her credit – only flushed lightly and then pointed at the map again. “Southern peninsula and the inland too, right about here.”

“What about you, Captain?” Nathanos said and coughed into his fist and it sounded like a burp.

“I would love to join but someone has to provide security detail for His Majesty.”

“You’re staying on the ship?” Modera said and Jaina didn’t miss the slight drop in her mood.

“Most secure place on this continent,” Kael’thas interjected and clapped his hands together. “At least until you make sure it’s safe for me to sink my royal feet into the beautiful kalimdorese sand. Kalimdorian? Kalim...doran?”

“Right. Exactly as His Majesty said”–Anya rolled up the map and fastened it with a ring of leather–“Everyone, please, pack up and meet me on the main deck in an hour for the briefing.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Sylvanas lightened her steps because the thud of her boots echoing down the halls made her sound like some lost heavy cavalryman trying to lay a lonesome siege to the citadel, and a low-ranking magister had already peeked his head out of his office to chide her for the commotion and then promptly pulled his head back into his neck like a shocked turtle at the sight of her ceremonial armour. It was nice to know that in spite of all the – mostly – tongue-in-cheek articles and pamphlets about her real and imagined fondness for “rowdy” and “unstylish” human women who would ruin theatre plays with their unquenchable thirst for public indecency, painting her as someone going through her second bout of puberty by rebelling against quel’dorei social norms, her person could still command respect, especially when she was gleaming in gold.

The two stoney-faced guards at the throneroom’s gate pulled their crossed halberds back to their chest and saluted her, lifting their weapons up high and slamming the shafts into the floor. 

Sylvanas offered them a ranger’s salute and said, “I have an audience with His Majesty.”

“Your weapons, Ranger-General.”

“I shall keep them,” Sylvanas said and they looked too meek to oppose her so she made a note to have them replaced or retrained as one of them crouched down to open the latch that kept the hinges locked and then pushed the wings of the door open.

“Your Majesty,” Sylvanas said and she looked back over her shoulder to nod at the guards, who saluted her briefly and then moved to lock the door behind her.

“Sylvanas,” Anasterian whispered and the acoustics of the room made sure his voice was carried like thunder.

Sylvanas pushed back her hood and dropped down on her knees. Almost as an afterthought, she pulled her sword out of its sheath and placed it on the marble floor in front of her, careful not to drop it with a clang, before she lifted her face again. The collapsed, ragdoll form of King Anasterian occupied the throne, as much as his wrecked body could be considered any sort of occupying force, with his too-frail limbs and gaunt face and milky eyes swimming in the blue glow of arcane addiction. He looked exactly his age. 

“You look radiant, my lord,” Sylvanas lied.

“No, I don’t,” Anasterian spat and then his ire turned into a bitter laugh. “Don’t lie to me, Sylvanas. Who could I trust to tell the truth if I cannot trust you?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Sylvanas said and stifled her grin. “You know the protocol.”

“Don’t I?” he said and waved her in. “Consider yourself exempt from it. Get up and come here.”

Sylvanas stood for a moment longer in the iridescent light flowing through the stained glass ceiling panels, letting it glimmer hotly on her pauldrons and her gauntlets, breaking on her as if she was a looking glass or a prism. Anasterian had always been the embodiment of a natural phenomenon, thunder or a windstorm, capricious and unforgiving if his mood dictated so, and a jovial and benevolent father if he was too tired to be anything else. He had only grown more exhausted over the years, his addiction taking its toll on his body and mind and, oddly, it made him a much better company. Old scars never quite healed, however, and Sylvanas was ever wary of the swing of his hands and the cruel curl of his lips and the easy derision he could unload on the least deserving. Not on her, well, _usually_ not on her. He had always liked Sylvanas, he liked her spirit, her charisma, her willingness to finish the things he had started and, above all, he liked her complete dismissal of Kael’thas’ numerous advances to court her and make her the next queen of Quel’Thalas. Sylvanas liked him best like this: battered and bruised and losing dignity with every passing minute – a small requital that repaid barely any of his services but filled her with satisfaction nonetheless.

“Now, _you_ ,” Anasterian started when she reached his throne, “you do look radiant. You remind me so much of your sister. Blood is blood, is it not?”

“Blood is blood,” Sylvanas said and tucked her thumbs into her fists and squeezed her fingers together, hard. Her hands stopped shaking. “Your son is your mirror image, as well.”

“I certainly hope not,” Anasterian said and sat up straighter. “Tell me I’m wrong but I’m afraid my beauty is fading.”

“You wanted to see me, my lord?” Sylvanas said and Anasterian barked a laugh.

“Very well played,” he said. “You are here because I would like to give you a warning. Two warnings, actually.”

One of Anasterian’s servants rushed in to get Sylvanas a bench but she opted to stand on the steps instead with her hands clasped behind her back, her spine straight and her chin proud.

“Firstly, the... _trolls_ ,” Anasterian said and he hid none of his distaste. His lower lip jutted out, his upper lip twisted and his nostrils flared as if he smelt something offensive enough to make his stomach churn. “How long are you planning to keep this up?”

“‘This’, Your Majesty?” Sylvanas said and schooled her features into impassivity.

“This back and forth and back and forth,” he said and snapped his fingers. “I want you to deal with it. I want results and I want them before I ascend to the stars. Is it not reasonable to want to oversee my own legacy?”

A man appeared from behind the ornate tapestry that separated them from the rest of the room with a pitcher of wine and two glasses. Sylvanas turned him down with a wave. 

“Burglary, thievery, granaries up in flames. I had to implement a daily Complaint Hour so that the _peasants_ can come to see me and whine about the tragedy of their lives and...feel nurtured by my love.” Anasterian took a sip of his drink and continued, “I do not enjoy any of this. When you ordered Lor’themar to the eastern borders you failed to mention that he was an impotent leader.”

“With all due respect my lord, he is not,” Sylvanas said and inclined her head. “Perhaps, I did not give him clear enough orders on how to proceed.”

“ _Perhaps_.” Anasterian shrugged. “Or, perhaps, you are a horse with blinders galloping towards Kul Tiras. I hope you like your harness.”

Sylvanas was rarely rendered speechless but Anasterian’s words struck her like a backhanded slap and her skin burnt under his gaze. She opened her mouth to let go of the retort that had built itself up from nowhere but she pulled the reins before it could escape and have her head put on the chopping block. Instead, she set her jaw and met his eyes.

“Well, in any case, your dalliance proved to be useful and I am very grateful for all the hard work you do,” he said. “When you choose to work, that is.”

“Your Majesty?”

“The Lord Admiral offered a formal trade agreement and he shall visit me soon to finalise the details of it.” He chugged the last of his wine and a droplet of it raced down his chin. Sylvanas followed it until it seeped into his off-white robes.

“He did?” Sylvanas repeated evenly and cleared her throat.

“You look surprised,” Anasterian noted and passed his empty glass to a servant who left the room walking backwards, bowing his head low. “Don’t tell me you had no ulterior motives when you thought to bed his–”

“ _Respectfully_ , Your Majesty,” Sylvanas said and the cracking of her knuckles reverberated through the room. “Is this relevant to our meeting?”

“I decide what’s relevant!” He started laughing without a moment’s pause and Sylvanas couldn’t tell what she liked less: his silent judgement or his wild outbursts. “Oh, you should see your face, it is a thing of beauty. All that rage and nowhere to put it – it really makes you look like Alleria”–he brushed away the locks that had fallen into his face and tucked them behind his ears–“Well, that’s your second warning. Your father-in-law is coming to see my humble abode and he might request your presence.”

He smiled then at Sylvanas, all teeth and twinkling eyes, and his face was almost kind. Sylvanas knew her skin had broken out in goosebumps ages ago and, for once, she was thankful for her armour.

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Sylvanas said. “What do you wish for me to do about the Amani conflict?”

“Well, get rid of it,” Anasterian said. “The conflict and the trolls. I don’t care much about how you do it. Be the artist of war that you are and make me a masterpiece.”

“When you say that you don’t care, Your Majesty,” Sylvanas said, “does that mean you would be open to unorthodox measures?”

“Do you want to make them our vassals, Sylvanas?” Anasterian said. 

“That’s an option we haven’t tried,” Sylvanas said. “If you would be willing to consider it, Your Majesty.”

“It’s not ideal,” Anasterian said. “But you know how much I like you and I think your sister would be rather upset with me if I didn’t let you at least _try_.”

“My sister is dead,” Sylvanas said before she could bite her words. "Your Majesty."

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “Well, regardless, I shall let you be on your way. You have to assemble a team, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received amazing, awesome fanart for this fic:
> 
> Please look at this memetic goodness from last chapter by the wonderful Tres:  
> https://slackergami.tumblr.com/post/628703699322159104/starting-this-is-self-care-self-care  
> And their Alex:  
> https://slackergami.tumblr.com/post/630232726045442048
> 
> And here is the beautiful EOSO bingo courtesy of DinosaurUnicorn:  
> 
> 
> Also, you can check my EOSO tag on tumblr:  
> https://vice-vereesa.tumblr.com/tagged/eoso
> 
> Thank you so much!!


End file.
